


Think of Me

by sinspiration



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon Divergance, M/M, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, The nu52 is Not A Thing, older!Damian, they get together eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While dealing with something in Paris, Damian loses his memory. Full-on amnesia, the whole nine yards. And Tim…is only other Bat anywhere close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm returning to this fandom after a couple years of being out of it, so this is mostly me playing around. Please tell me what you think!

He woke up feeling stiff and sore, and so ended up focusing on that for the time it took him to sit up and look around the room before he realized that he didn’t know where he was.

Or who he was.

Which…did not bode…well.

He scowled, which felt natural on his face –was he an angry person?– and looked around the room again, this time scrutinizing it much more closely. It wasn’t a large room, but it was bright and airy, with a high ceiling. The furniture was simple, but looked elegant; a deep, rich brown. Well-made and timeless. The sheets and covers on the bed seemed expensive.

He wasn’t sure why he knew that.

Trying to move around much still didn’t feel like an endearing idea, so he turned his focus down, to look himself over. He was wearing an undershirt and trousers. The bottom half of a suit, perhaps? Large hands, calloused. Brown skin, and he was well-muscled. He was probably quite tall, and felt pleased about that. He moved an arm, watching the pull of skin and sinew, feeling a twinge in his shoulders and back. He moved very gracefully, and there was no question that he seemed very fit. Was he an athlete? Did he hurt himself training somehow?

And what in the seven hells was his _name_?

There was nothing for it. He’d have to get up. Ignoring the pain in– _most_ of him actually what had he _done_ to himself?–he got out of bed, moving to the side table and starting to rummage around. If this was where he lived, there had to be something to help him identify himself. Or at least some clues to jog his memory.

Wait. Did he still know how to read?

No, that was stupid, and he scowled again. Of course he knew how to read. And write. And the two notebooks he pulled out of the drawer was filled with handwriting that he was (somehow) positive wasn’t his.

They were also filled with nonsense that he didn’t understand, interspersed with doodles. He didn’t pay attention to the dates, but he did notice that the scribbles were in a variety of languages. That he could understand, even if he couldn’t grasp the context of the words. So he was multi-lingual too? And athletic. Probably wealthy, if the room belonged to him. But if it did, why would there be notebooks next to the bed in handwriting that wasn’t his own?

He jumped when the door opened, startled to realize that he had moved into some sort of fighting stance, muscles thrumming and waiting, he instinctively knew how he would strike if he needed to and _why was that an instinct_ what _was_ he–

A man entered the room, and he took stock of him immediately. Caucasian, black hair, probably mid-to-late twenties, slim build hidden under a soft-looking turtleneck, several inches shorter than he was. He walked gracefully, but with a very slight limp, and it didn’t feel odd to note that detail.

“Oh,” the man said. “You’re up. Well. Good. Any lingering side effects?”

He frowned. “From what?”

The man looked at him, eyebrow raised. “I’ll take that as a yes. You haven’t even insulted me yet. Okay, let’s just–”

“Who are you?”

The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Damian, what are you–”

Damian. Ah. Yes, that did sound right, now that it’d been said. He nodded decisively and took a step forward. He was getting used to the pain; it didn’t feel so bad, now. “I asked who you are,” he said. “I’ve…forgotten some things.” _Don’t divulge too much, just in case_ . And then, _wait, why not?_ “Who are you? What happened?”

The man looked taken aback. He chewed on his bottom lip and eyed Damian warily. “I’m…Tim. Tim–Drake. How much, exactly, have you forgotten?”

“You, for one thing,” Damian said. “This–it’s an apartment, isn’t it?”

Tim nodded.

“This apartment, too. How I got here. Where is it, anyway?”

“You’re not exactly…talking like yourself,” Tim said, sounding careful. “Damian, how _much_ have you forgotten?”

He was going to have to trust. Something in the pit of Damian’s stomach made him feel like he didn’t trust well, or easily. But that same something didn’t seem to mind Tim too much. He shrugged, attempting to look apologetic. That didn’t sit well on his face at all. What sort of person was he? Tim was looking more and more alarmed though, and had actually taken another step back. “Everything, I’m afraid.”

Tim froze. Took in a breath and let it out. “…I’m going to call your father.”

 

\---

 

Damian turned out to be Damian Wayne, youngest (and biological) son of Bruce Wayne, international business mogul. He was nearly twenty-one, fabulously wealthy, and primarily lived in Gotham, New Jersey, running Wayne Enterprises alongside his father. He was heavily into gymnastics and martial arts, which at least explained a few things about his body and reflexes, was of Arabic descent on his mother’s side, and had a very strained relationship with her and his maternal grandfather.

According to the internet at large (which Damian remembered was a thing without trouble), he was 42nd in the ranks of Most Eligible Bachelor, though he was expected to make a great leap on the list on his next birthday. The internet search was actually very helpful; there was no doubt that the (numerous) pictures identifying him as Damian Wayne were indeed of himself. That allowed him to release some of the general worry that he was being lied to.

Tim Drake turned out to be Tim Drake. He was a computer consultant who specialized in security systems, and he occasionally freelanced for Damian’s father. There were much fewer pictures of him, especially recent ones, and though Tim showed him a couple of them just to further ease Damian’s mind, he was clearly uncomfortable about it. This was Tim’s apartment.

In Paris, France.

According to both Damian’s father and Tim, Damian had flown in to check over some of Tim’s systems. He’d collapsed while doing the inspection, and, after a medical examination determined it as work-induced-exhaustion, had been brought back to Tim’s apartment to avoid the press and so someone could keep an eye on him.

Damian didn’t believe that explanation for a second. It sounded completely ludicrous for one, on top of the fact that Tim and Bruce kept pausing, or cutting themselves off when speaking, or sending each other silent glances all throughout the video call. Damian had grit his teeth over being treated like an incapable _child_ but… he also was missing a significant portion of his memories. He could be reasonable.

“I’ll fly over tonight,” Bruce said, already reaching for his phone to make plans. Tim froze rock-solid next to Damian, even though he nodded like it was a good idea.

“That’s not necessary, father,” Damian said, startling even himself a little bit. But it sounded correct to say, and it felt like the correct way to say it. “I’m not overly harmed, and aside from the amnesia, I feel fine. You’re busy. It makes no sense for you to fly here in the middle of the week. If this was truly a result of exhaustion,” he was well-aware of the jab, though neither Bruce nor Tim reacted in any way, “I might as well take the time to rest here. It might be…pleasant to explore Paris. And I can always just as well fly home myself if needed.”

Bruce scrutinized him through the monitor. Damian tried to sit up straighter; he could almost feel his father’s gaze through the screen. Eventually Bruce smiled, and Damian stared. It was a perfectly fine smile, but it was very…he supposed the term was ‘political.’ He strongly doubted they smiled at each other like that, when his memories were intact.

“I understand the appeal, Damian, but you must understand why that’s a bad idea. It would be too dangerous for you to explore Paris without your memories. You might not even remember how to _speak_ French, for one. For another, you are quite well-known. The Wayne family has been targeted before. Normally I would trust you to travel without extensive bodyguards–”

“My martial arts training,” Damian said with a nod. He felt in his _bones_ how good he must be.

Bruce paused, which Damian thought odd. Surely his father _knew_ about his training. “Ah. Yes. However, considering the circumstances… Damian, I don’t want you traveling alone, either around Paris, or out of it. I’d rather have you close at home, until we can figure out how to make you better.” It was a reasonable thing to say, but it didn’t seem _right_. Tim didn’t seem to think so either, considering how absolutely still he’d gotten.

“Bruce,” Tim said, after a moment, sounding…very familiar, for one talking to his sometimes-boss. Another thing for Damian to think about. “Maybe–maybe it is better for Damian to stay here. You’ve got a lot of delicate projects going on right now. He doesn’t seem to be _hurt_ aside from the memory loss, and maybe something around here might help him get it back.”

“I could stay with Tim, since we know each other, and he could show me around,” Damian said. He glanced at Tim, who was doing an impression of a statue again. “…if that is all right with him,” he amended, feeling foolish.

Tim let out a tiny, choked-on laugh before covering his hand with his mouth. “Sorry!” He focused on Bruce, “Sorry,” he said again, “That’s fine. That’s–fine. If you’re okay with it, Bruce,” he added.

Damian frowned, watching him. He didn’t seem fine at all. “If it’s an imposition,” he started, before his father interrupted.

“Damian, why don’t I talk this over with Tim for a moment, hm? You could go rest some more. You’ve have quite a nasty shock.”

He shrugged, but nodded. Aside from the amnesia, he actually felt fine. He’d gotten used to the muscle soreness fairly easily; it was barely a twinge now. But he could understand his father wanting to talk to Tim in private. It was probably intimidating, having your boss’s son staring over your shoulder while you tried to discuss him.

Even if Damian didn’t believe for a second that their relationship was only that. The way Tim had spoken to him before he realized Damian’s condition… They clearly knew each other well. Tim kept expecting something from him, in the split-seconds he forgot about the amnesia. It wasn’t obvious, but Damian was clearly adept at reading Tim’s body language, a fact which also told Damian plenty. And why on earth would Billionaire Bruce Wayne let a practical stranger take care of his _amnesiac son_. No, there was much more going on here.

For now, the best way to learn was to listen. “I understand. I’ll return to the bedroom.”

Tim nodded before turning back to his computer screen.

 

\---

 

 _He’s going to be listening in_ , Tim typed quickly, the moment Damian ducked around the corner. “ _Bruce_.”

“I know,” Bruce said. He sighed. “If he’s really lost his memories, I don’t want to scare him by mentioning that this might have been an assassination attempt. It’s been years since any of us were targeted–”

“–and this might have been a fluke. I know. But still. I can’t–he isn’t–”

“I know you two don’t have the best history,” Bruce said, “but right now you’re the closest person to him that I trust. He’d be safer with you in part because of your…history.”

“Bruce–”

“I know it’s a huge favor,” Bruce said. “One I can’t possibly–”

“Stop,” Tim said, holding up a hand. “Just don’t, Bruce. I knew going into this project that I’d be working with you and Damian. I just hadn’t planned on—” _him taking a hit that was aimed at me._ “This situation. Obviously. ”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll need you to keep me updated, of course. I’ll start speaking with some doctors who specialize in this sort of thing. In the meantime, do…ah, safe activities, please.”

“Do you, uh, want me to ease him into some of his history?” Tim asked, after a moment. “Not anything too heavy of course, but–”

“I trust your judgement,” Bruce said. “Not that you’ve dealt with anything like this before, but–” he _looked_ at Tim, and then it was gone. “Cassandra’s still in Asia on some pressing business, but I’ll see if I can’t have her fly over once she’s done. It should hopefully only be a few more days. She’d be good for him, I think.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, she’d definitely be a help.” And a buffer. “I’ll, uh, do what I can and I’ll find out what I can. I’ll send you regular reports.”

“Very good.  Oh, and Tim?”

“Yes?”

“If his grandfather tries to make contact while Damian is in this condition–”

“I know,” Tim. “I’ll do everything I can, but Bruce–”

“I trust you,” Bruce said again.

“His…grandfather does seem to like me best.” Tim knew he sounded defeated. _I’ll find out what I can,_ he typed quickly. _I’ll express over a blood sample._

“We’ll talk more later,” Bruce said. “Thank you.”

Tim nodded shortly and signed off.

He waited a few moments to give Damian time to sneak back into the bedroom, before standing up and going to his kitchenette, trying to formulate a plan while he put together a light snack for two. He went over the facts.

Fact One: Tim had been living perfectly happily _and unbothered_ working as a security consultant in the United Kingdom at large when someone had gone and decided to mess with some of Tim’s systems in Paris, which had resulted in quite a lot of unpleasantness.

Fact Two: Unbeknownst to Tim, because he _didn’t_ actually monitor them 24/7, Bruce had, legitimately, sent Damian overseas to do some work for WE International (and maybe Batman on his off nights, what did Tim know?)

Fact Three: Damian, because they were on the same continent again, because _Damian_ , immediately poked his nose into Tim’s business and apparently decided that he’d sussed out a deeper plot wherein Granddad had gotten bored again, and had thought up a new way to get Tim to engage in some playful banter.

Fact Four: Ra’s had clearly been alive too long, if this is what his hobbies had dwindled too.

Fact Five: The group of assassins had clearly _not_ been under the assumption that Damian would, in the most literal sense, take a bullet for Tim.

Fact Six: So, uh, apparently Damian would take a bullet for Tim now. _That’s_ fun and new. (Not that Tim wasn’t perfectly capable of this thing called _dodging_ , for fuck’s sake Damian.)

Fact Seven: It was a magic bullet. No blood. And no memories.

Fact Eight: Ra’s was suddenly nowhere to be seen and probably thought this new turn of events highly entertaining and was perfectly content to sit back and watch what happened. Tim hoped.

Fact Nine: _Amnesiac Damian_ in Tim’s apartment for an undetermined amount of time, or at least until Cass showed up, because that was way better than taking him back to Gotham where the press would have a field day and Bruce would have to be very, very careful.

Fact Ten: Tim was kind of screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a lot of information from what he’d overheard between his father and Tim. Damian mulled it over, trying to sort through his thoughts.

First, that his amnesia had been the result of an assassination attempt. That sounded much more plausible than “work induced exhaustion.” That sounded _real_. It made so much more sense to him. Though he wasn’t sure why, and that in itself was a curious thing.

Second, he had been right about his relationship with Tim being more than what Tim had let on at first. There was no way they were just business associates. Tim talked to Father (it felt right to call him that, too) with familiarity. Tim was apparently a favorite of Damian’s grandfather. Tim knew him. And seemed to know him well.

Damian got the feeling that that could not be said of many people.

Third, Tim wanted Damian to think there was nothing between them. And he talked and acted like something bad had happened. What had Father said? That he and Damian did not have the best history.

Tim looked surprised, even alarmed, when Damian had been apologetic, like he was unused to that behavior. The fact that Damian hadn’t insulted Tim upon waking had been Tim’s first tip that something had been wrong. Tim--

Was standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

Tim cleared his throat. “I uh, I put together some snacks. Figured you might be hungry. And we could discuss what we’re going to do.”

“Yes, that sounds good. Thank you.” And there again, Tim looked surprised. But he only nodded and led the way back into the main room, where a small table was set up with bread and fruit and cheese. There was a teapot and a single mug sitting on the table too, along with a bottle of soda.

Tim grabbed up the bottle and poured it into a glass. Damian realized the tea was for him. Which. Yes. He liked tea. And, “You know I don’t care for soda?”

Tim flicked a glance at him. “It’s come up. Meetings, you know.”

“I see.” Damian took a seat at the table. “Thank you for the meal.”

“Uh. You’re welcome?”

“Are you so unused to me being polite?” Damian asked, picking at some grapes.

Tim’s face blanked. “Look, we’re sort of on different levels. I’m beneath you. So you’ve always treated me that way.”

“In meetings.”

Tim curled his fingers around his glass. “Right. In meetings.”

Not completely sure why he was doing it, Damian placed a hand on the table and stood, leaning forward. A move used to intimidate, especially effective with his bulk and stature. Tim flinched back, hands coming up in a defensive posture.

Satisfied, but feeling sick to his stomach, Damian sat down again. “It’s not just that you dislike me. You’re afraid of me. What have I done to you? And why are you letting me impose?”

Tim clenched his jaw, then let out a long, slow breath. “I’m not afraid of you. I could put up my own in a fight against you. I _have_ put up my own in a fight against you. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Damian swallowed. “I’ve hurt you.”

Tim shrugged.

“And you’ve… come to expect this treatment.”

“Damian, stop it. As interesting as it is to see you actually care about my well-being, you’re only hurting yourself trying to think about this while you don’t have any memories. You’ll get it when they come back to you.”

“But what if they don’t? There’s a very real chance that my memories may never return in full. And in the meantime I would like to know what kind of person I was.” He glared, but directed it at the table to as not to scare Tim. “I was apparently some sort of demon.”

“Damian,” Tim sighed, “You uh. You had your own um...reasons. For doing what you did. And I can’t believe I’m actually defending them but. You were young. Are still young. You...made mistakes?”

“You don’t even sound like you believe yourself.”

“I might have been one of those mistakes,” Tim said eventually. “But I gave back as good as I got too, and I was older and should have known better. It worked out in the end. I mean, I like France.”

Damian digested this. “You’re saying that whatever I did to you was so awful it drove you to _move across the ocean_.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath. “Don’t do this. Do we have to do this? I don’t really want to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Damian said, hanging his head, chastened. “You’re right; it’s not fair of me to make you relive--whatever I did to you.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake--” Tim pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’m going to just--take a walk. Get some air. I’ll be civil when I come back. Just sit tight and don’t--just sit tight. Leave my laptop alone.”

What was Damian going to do with Tim’s laptop? It wasn’t as though he knew the password to it.

But he let Tim leave without fuss. It would give him more time to think anyway. And he had to think. There was so much going on, and he had learned even more from this conversation.

Enough that he was disgusted with his past self, for whatever he had done to Tim. At the very least it sounded like...like workplace harassment. At the worst…

Tim knew Damian’s grandfather, and Tim’s father. He must have, at one point, been close with Damian’s family. And then something had happened, something to make Tim afraid of him to the point of leaving the _continent_.

Damian was going to find out what he’d done. And, if need be, spend the rest of his life making amends for it. Maybe this amnesia thing was a second chance. He could work on not being a monster.

 

\---

 

Tim felt much better after he’d taken a walk and cleared his head. This was what he liked about Paris; easily becoming a face in the crowd, no one recognizing him or bothering him, everyone else worried about their own problems and going their own ways. He had been perfectly happy living here, and in other places in the UK, away from his past and mistakes, his broken relationship with Bruce. Away from his memories, and didn’t it just figure that memories were the reason why he had been upset in the first place.

He was annoyed at himself for how badly he had handled things with Damian. Tim was not unfamiliar with being undercover; he was a good liar, and good at hiding truths among lies. He should have been able to deal with Damian without issue, feeding him stories that were just this side of true to not raise suspicion. And instead Damian had tried to dig into Tim’s dirty laundry and TIm had just--lost his cool.

The problem was that it was _Damian_ , and things were beyond weird, and it was throwing Tim off. Granted, he had barely seen Damian in the last six years, but getting “thank you”s and “sorry”s from him was still surprising, even though Damian had mellowed somewhat from the murderous ten-year-old he’d once been.

Damian was still curt, and still generally repulsed by people he thought beneath him, and though Bruce (and probably Dick) had clearly imparted the “do good and protect” worldview in him pretty well, Tim had always been fairly positive he was still on the list of people Damian tended to sneer at.

And thinking about it all over again wasn’t helping. _This_ Damian was...different, if only because of the memory loss. He was just another person, and one who seemed to be _good_ , for lack of a better word. And it _was_ interesting to watch Damian struggle with who his past self had been.

It struck Tim, suddenly, the thought that Damian might still struggle with that while his memories were intact. That...did explain some things.

Not all the things, because there was no way in any world that Damian would treat Time civilly. But…

But in the very few times they’d interacted in the last several years, it had been Tim to put the distance between them, not Damian. And Damian had usually respected that distance. He hadn’t tracked Tim down, hadn’t insisted on accompanying him on patrols, and even recently, Tim had only been fully aware that Damian had been on-scene in the minutes before he’d gotten shot. True, Damian had been tailing him without Tim’s knowledge, but that was just a Bat thing. He’d only broke cover to--protect Tim from a bullet.

So maybe Current Damian wasn’t as bad as Past Damian had been. It stood to reason, Tim figured. After all, the kid had to grow up someday. And he had had plenty of time for it, what with nearing twenty-one. Tim was closer to thirty himself, and he’d certainly grown and changed a lot since, well, since leaving.

Tim took a deep breath and let it out. For now, Damian was alone in Paris and vulnerable. Tim was his only real safe haven. It wasn’t fair to treat amnesiac Damian as though he was the Damian from Tim’s memories. Time had passed and things had changed, and Tim could be an Adult about this.

Besides, if things had gone according to Ra’s’ plan, _Damian_ would be the one taking care of an amnesiac _Tim_ right now. Tim shuddered at the thought. No, this was definitely the preferable situation. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.


	3. Chapter 3

Damian looked up when he heard the door, announcing that Tim had returned, but he did not get up from the couch to greet him. He wanted to minimize his presence around Tim, to help assuage any bad memories. It would be difficult, in Tim’s little apartment, but perhaps Damian could talk Tim into letting him stay at a hotel. Surely he had a room already booked somewhere. And he got the feeling that Tim wouldn’t mind the added separation.

“Hey Damian,” Tim said, coming into the living area.

Damian nodded at him. “Welcome back.”

Tim took a breath. “Listen, you’re missing your memories. It’s not fair for me to treat you as though you have them. And it’s not fair for you to try to make up for something you don’t recall. It’d actually be easier on me if we both agreed to start fresh. But that also means you can’t go digging into our past, trying to figure out what happened.”

“And that would be better for you?”

Tim nodded.

“Very well. I agree.”

Tim’s eyes widened slightly before he shook his head. “Right. Great. Okay. Now then… what would you like to do? We’ve got all day.”

Damian hesitated. He still felt the ache in his muscles, and he had looked himself over in the mirror in the bathroom while Tim was gone. He was a well-built man, broad-shouldered and bulky with muscle. If he were honest, he felt wound up and...wanted to see what his body could do. But would suggesting that be too much?

“What is it?”

“I ah--is there a gymnasium that you know of?”

And Tim actually smiled. Or, well, quirked his lips, but it was something. It changed his whole face. Damian wanted to see him smile more. “Feeling like you need to let loose a bit, huh? I get that. Yeah, there’s a private gym I use a couple metro stops away. You want to go?”

“Please. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Tim shook his head. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind turning off my brain for a little bit either. Let me go get my gym clothes.” He paused, then looked over Damian. Damian could practically feel Tim cataloging his body. He fought the sudden and frankly surprising urge to sit up straighter. “And I’ll contact your hotel, see if they can’t express over a change of clothes for you. Or maybe all your clothes, if you’re going to be staying with me.”

Damian got the feeling that Tim’s apartment was big for Paris, but it was still quite small, with only two rooms besides the bathroom; the bedroom, and the living area, with the kitchenette tucked up on the side. He had a futon couch that unfolded, a table and two chairs, a coffee table, but not much else in the way of furniture aside from his bed and nightstands. “I could always stay at the hotel,” he suggested. “If you don’t want to house two people here.”

Tim shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You sleep on the couch though.” And then he turned and pulled out his phone as he made his way towards his bedroom, already dialing the hotel for Damian’s clothes as he went to pack his own.

Well. If Tim did not mind Damian staying here, Damian certainly wouldn’t make waves about it. Something in him wanted to keep Tim close anyway, and he got the feeling that it had something to do with their shared histories.

 

\---

 

“Here it is,” Tim said, leading the way into the unassuming building that he rented out. His gym studio was on the third (and top) floor, and it was on the smaller side, but it was matted, had weights, and the high ceilings meant that he could install some extra apparatus to work on. It was enough for him. Hopefully it’d be enough for Damian.

“Oh good,” he said, as they finished the three-story climb. “Looks like your clothes got here okay.” At least Damian’s hotel had been worth the price. The rest of his clothes had been sent to Tim’s place, so they’d be there when they got back.

“Changing room is back here,” he added, when Damian said nothing. When Tim turned to look at him, Damian was looking over the gym with interest.

“I like that there are mats,” he said. “And a...those bars?”

“Parallel bars. Do you think you remember how to use them?”

Damian was eyeing them with something akin to greed. “I think I do.”

“Well okay then. I mean, I might have to spot you for my own sake until you prove you know what you’re doing but by all means.”

“Where did you say the changing room was?” Damian asked, picking up the box of his clothes.

Tim jerked a shoulder towards the back. “Follow me.”

The changing room was a very small room, with enough space to turn around in. Tim rarely even used it, just changing in the main room. It was normally reserved for when Cass came to visit (even though _she_ had no problems just changing in the main room too). The rest of the space was for the bathroom, which included a shower. A small corner of the gym had a locker and a small fridge.

“Go ahead,” Tim said, gesturing for Damian to take the changing room first. Damian paused, then nodded, hefting the box and walking inside.

Tim took the opportunity to strip down quickly, and throw on a pair of leggings and an undershirt. He stowed his clothes in the locker out of habit, and was warming up on the mats by the time Damian emerged from the locker room, dressed similarly to Tim.

Tim concentrated on his warm-up. Damian’s muscles were, frankly, unfair. Tim was built, certainly, but his body type tended towards “lean.” Damian… took after Bruce.

Damian was also staring at him. Tim raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You--” Damian made an aborted move towards him. “You have a lot of scars.”

“Yeah.” Past Damian had taunted Tim about it, before. That Tim was so careless and vulnerable in combat. That he needed more training. That he couldn’t even protect himself, how was he supposed to protect the people of Gotham.  “I guess I do.”

Damian clenched his fist, then relaxed it. “I will not ask.”

“Okay. Do you want to warm up with me?”

Damian nodded and stepped closer.

Tim took the lead on the warm-up, and was a little gratified that Damian built up a thin sheen of sweat by the time they were done. Tim was also slightly more flexible, which he felt pretty smug about, even though he was careful not to let it show.

“Did you want to just start on the bars?” Tim asked, nodding at them.

“Please.”

“...right.” And Tim was never going to get used to that. “How would you mount them then? Show me.”

Damian mounted them beautifully. And took off into a routine before Tim could even get into a proper spotter’s position. After a few seconds, it was clear that Damian’s body remembered things _fine_.

Tim shrugged, left him to it, and grabbed up his bo to practice some shadow sparring.

 

\---

 

Tim was...very distracting, Damian decided, as he did push-ups on one side of the mats, surreptitiously watching the other man. He moved beautifully; graceful and deadly-- (deadly? What that--no, why would that be a good thing? Why would he think of it?)

He moved well. He was strong and flexible, and his skill with the staff was admirable.

He was captivating to watch.

Damian frowned and concentrated on this push-ups again. Those feelings were...confusing. They felt familiar, and yet…

And yet…

He did not know. He also was not sure how _much_ of his interest in Tim was borne out of Tim simply being the only person that Damian actually _knew_. It was no wonder that he was growing attached. Right? Right.

Though the fact that he had gotten this interested this quickly--

They had a history. They had a history. Damian would have killed to know what it was.

He immediately amended that thought. He wouldn’t kill. He didn’t kill. Not anymore.

Not anymore?

What?

What--that--no--

Tim had a _lot_ of scars. He had been afraid. Damian was--had he been violent?

Damian felt his arms give even though he wasn’t yet exhausted, and he collapsed onto the floor overcome with a memory. A memory of being small, and a lot of blood. Not his. A woman, smiling at him, _proud_

“--mian! Damian calm down!”

He came back to himself, his breath harsh in his ears, to Tim crouching down next to him, hands just hovering above his back. Damian pushed himself up to his knees. Even like this, he had height on Tim. Part of him was so pleased at that. The rest of him just felt ill.

“I’ve killed people.”

Tim looked aghast. “You remembered that?”

“Did you… did you know--”

“Of all the things you could have remembered, you remembered _that_?”

The ill feeling got worse. “It’s true, then. Is Father aware?” They had money. They were powerful. Had they been using it to hide Damian’s--

Tim’s face was blank again. Damian hated that expression. “What did you remember, exactly?”

“Being small. A lot of blood. A woman, proud of me. The fact that I don’t kill, not anymore. But that means I must have...that I used to.”

Tim brought up a hand to cover his face. “Worst conversation ever,” he muttered. Then he sighed. “The long and short of it is...look, your mom’s family are. Well. Uh. Assassins.”

“Assassins,” Damian said flatly.

“Yeah. And you were trained in it too. As a kid. Child abuse up the wazoo. And then uh, Bruce found you and took you in, and taught you better. So that’s what happened. I mean uh, yeah, you did kill people. When you were like ten. A kid, who was just following orders and trying to make your family proud. It’s...it’s not your fault.”

Damian was speechless. He couldn’t--

“I know it’s a lot to process. That’s sort of the worst thing you could have remembered. I’m sorry.”

Damian pushed to his feet and rushed to the bathroom to vomit.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim flopped back on the mats and covered his face with his hands. Of course. Of _course_ the first thing Damian remembered was that he was a child murderer. Of course.

And now what? Tim had no idea what Damian was going to do with this new knowledge. He could only hope that he took the “child” part to heart and forgave himself. For now.

...had Past Damian forgiven himself? Or did he still live with revulsion for the way he used to be?

Tim was starting to actually feel a little sorry for Past Damian.

After about a minute, the door to the bathroom opened again and Damian stepped out, looking a little pale.

“I’m going to just sit down,” he said shortly. “Please don’t let me keep you for your exercise.”

Tim sat up. “We can just go.”

Damian shook his head. “You weren’t finished. I’ll just… I’ll watch. If that is alright. Maybe I could learn something.”

 _Probably nothing you don’t already know_ ,  Tim didn’t say. “Okay, sure.”

He was done with bo for a bit, but watching Damian on the bars had made him itch to do it too, so he stepped up and lost himself to a routine. When he finally dismounted, panting, sheened with sweat, it was to Damian watching him, gaze full and intense. It took Tim a little aback but he supposed that all of Damian was intense, really. As long as Tim wasn’t getting murdered at the end of the day, he could consider it a win.

...probably he should keep that thought to himself too.

“I’m going to take a quick shower and change,” Tim said instead, as he grabbed his stuff out of the locker. “You can go after me?”

Damian nodded and seemed disinclined to move. So Tim left him on the mats.

 

\---

 

After they were both in their street clothes again, Tim suggested that they get something to eat. Damian still felt a bit sick, but he agreed. His body could probably use the calories, especially after the workout he had just given it.

Damian kept silent on their way over to the restaurant Tim had chosen, and Tim kept shooting him worried glances. They seemed to be more concerned than afraid though, so Damian paid them no mind.

Once they were seated and had been given menus, Damian realized that yes, he did know how to read French still. He pointed this out to Tim, who nodded.

“And you can understand it, can’t you?”

“Yes.” Damian had been eavesdropping on snatches of conversation since they started out.

“That’s good,” Tim said. “It means the stuff you know is still in there. It’s just a matter of getting it out again.”

“I’m not so sure I want to,” Damian muttered darkly. “I appear to have had a very colorful past.” He had noticed the scars on his own body while he had been taking his quick shower. Not as many as Tim but still, enough to tell a story.

If only Damian could read _that_ language.

Tim tried to smile, and it looked funny on his face. Not at all real. “Damian, your past made you into who you are now. Or who you were. You’re a skilled martial artist, a brilliant mind, and a talented businessman. You run Wayne Industries along with Bruce and have plans to take the company one day. You do a lot of charity work. You’re someone who is admired.”

“And yet you actually know me,” Damian shot back, “And dislike me. I have been cruel to you. It doesn’t matter that I’ve pleased the masses if I’m cruel to the ones close to me.”

“Wait a--” Tim pushed a hand through his wet hair. “Damian, we weren’t close. We never were.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Damian--”

Their plates came, and there was silence as they both allowed the server to put down their food. Damian’s fork hovered over his quiche, waiting for whatever else Tim had to say.

Tim sighed. He sighed a lot around Damian. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, since I can’t actually read minds. But what I told you about us is true. You thought I was beneath you. You... gave me a hard time. I gave you a hard time back, and then eventually I left. We haven’t even really made contact in years. It...seems like you grew out of that behavior.”

Damian took a forkful of his food to give himself some time to think. “Very well,” he said at last. “I won’t push.”

“Thank you.”

“But I still find who I seem to have been distasteful.”

Tim shrugged. “I’m sure once you get your memories back, you won’t worry about it.”

“Perhaps,” Damian allowed.

 

\---

 

After lunch, on Damian’s request, they headed back to Tim’s apartment. Damian was eager to see what had been sent over from his hotel, in the hopes that it might tell him more about himself.

The clothing wasn’t a surprise; it was all modern and well-made, expensive brands but subtle tastes. The other thing that had been sent over was a sleek laptop computer. Tim seemed hesitant for some reason, but Damian’s fingers typed in the password without even consulting Damian’s brain, and then he was logging in and eagerly reading through his files.

Tim seemed not, well, not _happy_ , to leave Damian to it, but he didn’t protest, instead taking out his own laptop to get some work done. Meanwhile, Damian spent more time looking himself up, reading through statements and notes on his computer, and curiously poking at an encrypted folder that he couldn’t see to remember the password to, even though he had no issues with any others. That was interesting.

Tim eventually excused himself to go on another walk. He returned twenty minutes later with a bag of pastries, and offered an eclair to Damian on a little red plate.

“Thank you,” Damian said, taking it and setting it down next to him, while he continued to read notes he himself had written about some WI plant.

“You’re welcome,” Tim said, sitting down with his own baked good.

They continued to work in companionable silence for the rest of the evening. Tim made them a simple dinner of eggs and vegetables and fresh bread, and then he retreated to his bedroom for about half an hour. Damian used the time to stand and do some stretches, because he felt like he should. They felt routine.

He started to get antsy when it began to get dark, as if there was something he was forgetting to do. But then Tim emerged from the bedroom dressed in black sleeping pants and a large worn T-shirt and Damian started thinking about something else entirely.

“I guess I’ll change for bed,” he said, closing his laptop and standing up.

“Sure,” Tim shrugged. “I already put your toiletries in the bathroom for you.”

“Thank you.” Tim was unused to Damian thanking him, so Damian was going to do it as often as the situation warranted.

“Sure,” Tim said again. “Did you want to call Bruce before you go to bed? It’s afternoon there right now. You could check in.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” Damian liked how it was just the two of them, right now. He didn’t feel like bringing his father into it.

“Alright. I’m going to turn in now, I think. Long day.”

“I understand.”

“Night, Damian.”

Damian nodded. “Good night, Tim.”


	5. Chapter 5

That night, Damian dreamed. Flashes of things that could have been memories, bits and pieces that didn’t go together.

An elderly man, but one who smiled and wasn’t cruel, handing him a tray of food

A leather jacket and a red hood, a green and gold uniform in a glass case

Black and blue, on bodies, in bones,

Father and something dark, heavy, a suit but not quite the right one

A red-haired child, teen, adult, giant

Tim and Damian, both much younger and smaller, a flash and then blood,

So much blood

_More blood_

Damian jerked awake and sat up on the couch. The only sound was the curtain rustling in the slight breeze and his own harsh breathing. He instinctively turned his head in the direction of Tim’s bedroom. The door was closed, but Damian _knew_ he could open it silently.

He’d feel much better checking on Tim, to make sure he was truly okay. The dream had unsettled him.

Damian quietly stood up and walked over to the door, opening it without so much as a creak. He looked inside the room

...to find no one there.

Fighting down panic, Damian swept his eyes around the room. Rumpled covers, so Tim had slept and gotten up, and open window, the curtain moving in the breeze--perhaps Tim had just gone outside? He had done that before, to clear his head. Maybe he was just getting some fresh air. Yes. Yes, that had to be it.

Damian felt disgruntled that Tim had managed to get past him without his noticing, but there was nothing for it. He wondered if maybe he should go outside to check but--no, if Tim needed some time alone, Damian shouldn’t impose.

Even if it was the middle of the night, and what was the man _doing_ outside alone by himself, when there were dangers everywhere--

Damian realized his hands were shaking, and he took a deep breath. In and out, tried to center himself. It felt instinctive to will himself calm and he didn’t feel _better_ after but he felt like he could go on without his feelings bubbling up. Blank.

It wasn’t that he liked the feeling, but it was preferably to the worry, the rage, the--the emotion.

He calmed himself again, breathed out, went back to bed. Closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep.

 

\---

 

Tim slipped back in through the window and quickly removed his costume, stowing it in the hidden compartment underneath his bed. He’d been out for hours and would pay for it in the morning and didn’t even have anything to show for it. Ra’s was most likely still out there, but he was doing a very, very good job of staying under the radar. Tim had broken up the usual muggings-attempted rape-gang fight night activities, but he had no more information about whatever happened to Damian.

Damian. Tim quietly opened his door and peeked out into his living room. Damian was still sleeping on the unfolded futon, a slight frown on his face. Good. He was fine. And still here. And wasn’t that a weird thought.

There was nothing for it. The best Tim could do was keep Damian around until he got his memory back, or Ra’s showed his face and forced their hand. Or Damian decided to go back to the US and then he’d be Bruce’s problem.

Tim wasn’t so sure how this current Damian would handle Bruce’s nightlife. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would _out_ Batman, but it still remained to be seen how Damian would _feel_. And that was something to consider.

It would be fine. They could just have more days like today. As long as Damian didn’t get too bored. And while Tim was not about to let him explore France on his own, maybe Tim could take him some places where he wouldn’t be too bored. The lavender gardens or the Louvre or something.

They’d deal. And Damian’s memories seemed to be coming back anyway, if slowly. He remembered he used to be a _killer_ and really, after _that_ what’s the worst thing that could pop into his brain?

 

\---

 

The days fell into a rhythm. Damian woke up first, but Tim wasn’t too long to wake up after. Tim went out to pick up bread (and, after a few days, Damian started doing it while Tim was still asleep), they had a quiet breakfast together, and then Tim did some work while Damian continued to look through the files on his computer.

After, they went to the gym together for a few hours, then got lunch in one of the many restaurants around Paris, then came back to the apartment to wind down and do more work. Tim made a simple dinner and then went to take a walk while Damian did stretches in the apartment. After a couple of days, Tim invited Damian along on the walks.

It all felt very uncomplicated and slightly domestic and Tim was going out of his mind with worry. He’d been going out every night looking for something Ra’s had missed, and had nothing to show for it besides Damian looking at him concern in the mornings whenever Tim yawned.

Damian also had no more memories come to the surface. Or… None that he was sharing. He was perfectly cordial to the point of concern, took it upon himself to do cooking or cleaning without being asked (like Tim would ever ask), and generally went one step further by doing the things like:

Picking up bread or pastries in the morning while Tim slept (“You’re clearly tired. I don’t mind doing it.”)

Suggesting that they go to the gym when Tim started to get the headaches he developed after looking at his monitor too long (Not that Damian _knew_ about them so… probably he was just getting bored?)

Bringing up lunch after they’d been in the gym for a while, Tim frustrated with the world and himself that he couldn’t just _find out what Ra’s was up to--_

Tim tried to, well, to give back. He suggested a few outings and Damian had seemed pleased to accept them. They went to museums, they went to bookstores and cafes, they packed picnics and went to the country.

And soon nearly two weeks had passed and no one was any closer with figuring out what was going on. Cass had been held up in Hong Kong and would probably be there for another month at least, so she was no help, and Bruce was getting antsy. He wanted Damian home, with his own equipment, so he could start running actual tests.

 

___

 

“I’m just suggesting that perhaps it’s time for you to come home, Damian. You’ve been in France for two weeks now and you’re no closer to regaining your memories.”

“I like it here. If I must be devoid of my memories somewhere, it might as well be here.”

“That’s fine, but don’t you think you’ve imposed on Tim enough?”

Damian frowned. “If this were about Tim, you would have brought him up first. You want me home, but I’ve come to no harm here. And if I’m to speak honestly, I’m more worried about Tim than I am myself.”

His father looked surprised. Then calculating. “And why is that?”

Damian shrugged. “He doesn’t take care of himself. He’s always tired, which means he doesn’t sleep well. He sometimes forgets to eat. He overworks himself.”

“I… see.”

“And--” Damian paused. Perhaps this wasn’t information he should give his father, for Tim’s benefit, but Tim didn’t seem to have any other _friends_. In the two weeks Damian had been here, no one had called Tim aside from Bruce, no one had dropped by, Tim hadn’t himself left to visit anyone--there was nothing. If Damian hadn’t been here, Tim would have been alone all that time, or so Damian could assume. “And I like his company,” he finished.

Bruce blinked at him. “Could you please let me talk to Tim?”

Damian nodded and went to knock on Tim’s bedroom door.

While the two talked, Damian excused himself to go outside for a few minutes. He and Tim had both gotten comfortable with the idea of Damian being out alone, as long as he didn’t go too far. And Damian wanted to think.

He went to a cafe down the street and bought himself an espresso (Father had sent over cards and cash, which was good because Damian refused to let Tim pay for anything, what with him already being an imposition and messing up his schedule).

Damian hadn’t been entirely truthful about his memories. More had come to him. He knew the red-headed boy, now man, was a friend of his. He knew that their meeting had been surrounded in pain and fear.

He knew that the smiling elderly man was related to Bruce somehow, because they both kept appearing in his dreams, together, an almost-family, and a bright spot amidst everything else. But there was disapproval there too, for what Damian and his father did, whatever it was.

There was another older man, who smirked over smiled. Damian did not like dreaming about him.

He knew he’d hurt Tim somehow, in the past. Those dreams kept resurfacing too. If he were to believe them as memories, Damian had… had almost killed him.

A woman with plants, another with jackals, a green and white grin that burned with laughter, a man who ate others, another who simply turned them into dolls, more and more and more--

Damian did not want to remember. He was...he was happy how he was. He didn’t want to know about all this past of his, that had him associating with monsters over men, who hurt people in dark alleyways.

A slight woman with short hair so red it was almost black dropped down into the seat across from Damian, holding a steaming mug. “ _Do you mind_ ?” She asked, in perfect French. “ _The rest is full.”_

Damian fought his first urge, which was to glare, and shrugged instead. What did he care if some woman shared his table. They sat with their drinks in silence, though Damian got the peculiar feeling that she was...watching him. Though every time he looked up, she was staring out into the street. It made his shoulders itch.

After several long moments, she set down her mug. _“This was nice. I don’t relax often. But then, you’re not much of a threat right now._ ”

Damian jerked up to look at her. “ _What--”_

She smiled. It was not a nice smile. “ _A message from your grandfather. If you even remember who that is. You can give it to your little housemate._ ” She switched to another language. Arabic? Damian knew it but, “ I _’m bored with waiting. Tell Timothy I will be coming for him next.”_

Damian shot to his feet. “You will do no such thing and--neither will he!”

“Try and stop him.” She stood and gave him a nod, walking away into the crowd. Damian had a fleeting desire to chase her down, demand she explain what that all meant, but his first priority had to be getting home. If Tim was in danger--

From Damian’s grandfather?

Maybe it was time for Damian to start remembering in earnest after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think!

Bruce wanted Damian to come home. Tim agreed with him. But try to convince Damian, even Damian-sans-memories to do something he didn’t want to. Tim supposed that he could tell Damian that it was getting to be too much of an imposition of his space and time but he felt _bad_ doing that. Because it wasn’t _true_.

And if that wasn’t throwing Tim for a loop, nothing would.

Just...things had been nice. Getting to know a Damian who wasn’t after Tim’s throat. Who didn’t hate him for being Robin first. Who wasn’t _insulting_. Who actually seemed to care about Tim’s well-being.

A Damian who had grown up with Ra’s and Talia’s influences. Who might have had a chance to be a child. And wasn’t that just the saddest thought.

Damian burst back into the apartment, panting as though he’d run at top speed. Eyes wide, Tim stood up in concern. “Damian, what’s--”

“What is my grandfather to you?” Damian demanded. “Why would he be after you? What did she _mean_?”

“What did who mean? And your grandfather? Did… did someone make contact with you?”

“A woman,” Damian said. “Small, dark red hair. She spoke first to me in French, then Arabic, then English. Tim, what is going _on_?” He paused. “You said… you said my family raised me to be an assassin. That my grandfather and mother were such themselves. If my grandfather is truly who you say he is, then we need to leave.” He grabbed Tim’s arm, a sure sign he was upset; Damian refrained from touching Tim at all, and started pulling him towards the bedroom. “Start to pack your things!”

Tim pulled his arm away. Damian let him go. “Damian calm _down_.” He gestured to the couch. “Maybe you should take a seat. We’ve...got a lot to talk about.”

Damian swallowed. “You don’t seem concerned.”

“Oh no, I’m _very_ concerned. If Ra’s is after me again--”

“ _Again?_ ”

Tim sighed. “If Ra’s is after me again, packing up and leaving isn’t going to help. I’ve just got to deal with whatever happens as it comes. He enjoys playing with me. If I provide enough entertainment, he leaves me alone again for a while.”

“Explain! Please,” he added, looking abashed. He sat down on the couch.

Tim came to sit next to him. “Look. Um. Yes your family is made of crazy assassin people. Your grandfather’s the leader of them. Years ago, I ended up catching his attention by beating him at his own game. Namely, he tried to kill me a few times and I refused to die.”

“What--what--”

Tim held up a hand, and Damian closed his mouth, but his eyes were wild. “I’ll spare you the details. But this was around the time you and I weren’t getting along. Though you did, at one point, help stop a group of assassins from hurting someone close to me. Thanks for that.”

Damian’s fist were clenched so hard his hands were shaking. “I--I want to ask.”

“I’m getting to it,” Tim sighed. “Basically he’s interested in me.” _In more ways than one_ , he thought darkly. “And every so often he decides to play with me again. That’s… that’s how you lost your memories.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He sent out a group of assassins to take me down. One shot at me. You leapt in front of the bullet. And you woke up in perfect health but missing who you were.”

“I…” Damian trailed off. He looked lost and frustrated and Tim felt bad.

“Come on,” Tim said, standing up. “There’s something I need to show you.”

Damian followed him into Tim’s bedroom. Tim flipped his mattress up and slid open the secret latch on the frame that he’d had custom made. Then he pulled out Red Robin.

And watched Damian’s eyes widen, before he fell to his knees.

 

\---

 

Damian gasped as he tried to hold himself up and not just collapse face-first onto the floor. His memories were slamming back to him, flashes and burst of images, feelings, sights and sounds and smells and--

There was a hand on his back, Tim-- _no, Drake, no_ Tim _, no no no_ \--just a gentle pressure grounding him, reminding him where he was and how to breathe and eventually he was able to sit up, covered in sweat, and look Tim in the eye and know who he was.

“Damian?” Tim asked warily, scootching backwards. “Are you...okay?”

Damian wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m back,” he forced out. And then, even though he felt sick to say it, “Hello, Drake.”

Like a shot, Tim was standing and halfway across the room, as close he could get to the door while maintaining a distance from Damian. Damian’s stomach roiled.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” he snapped.

“No harm in being careful,” Tim replied, still looking like he was about to make a run for it.

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, “Drake, you have been nothing but kind to me during my… indisposition. I do not plan to repay the favor with violence. I have, in actual fact, grown past that.”

But Tim didn’t stop looking _afraid_ damn it. “Okay,” he said, still obviously tense. “That’s great. Did you want to leave right now?”

“What are you babbling--” He stopped, took a breathe. “I will go stay in a hotel if you wish me out of your apartment, but I certainly don’t intend to leave while Ra’s is after you. You could use the backup.”

“Backup,” Tim said flatly.

Damian crossed his arms and fought down his glare. “Is it so difficult to believe that I actually wish you the _opposite_ of harm?”

“Yes.”

Damian swallowed and bowed his head. “I… deserve that.” He tried to keep from clenching his fists, to make himself look like less of a threat. And now he had the added memory of doing the same thing in the weeks before.

There was a long silence and then Tim let out a breath. “No,” he said eventually, “You didn’t. What you do deserve is a chance, now that you’re older and we’re both changed. So I’m sorry. But you are going to have to… give me some time.”

“Of course.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Now then uh. Maybe one of us should tell Bruce what’s going on.”

 

\---

 

Bruce took the news well. And he was all for Damian staying in Paris now that his memories had returned.

It might also have had something to do with the fact that Damian let slip that Ra’s was up to something again.

Tim was, well, not _happy_ to have Current Damian (Past Damian? With-Memories Damian?) around, but if he were honest with himself, he appreciated the idea that he might actually have back-up when dealing with Ra’s this time around. The last interaction had been a year and a half ago and Tim still couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Scotland.

Which was a shame. He’d enjoyed Scotland up until the whole league-of-assassins-kidnapping-and-week-long-hostage-situation thing. He’d managed to get out on his own, which had been good because no one else knew to come look for him. And that had been. Not the best feeling.

Though for all of Ra’s smugness, Tim had known for a fact that Kon had been off world at the time. Not to mention Tim’d been gagged for nearly all of it. And Kon probably _would_ have come. He was pretty upset when he’d learned what had happened. Or what Tim had told him, anyway. Ra’s was just lucky he knew how to hide from a Kryptonian. And also probably had access to kryptonite. Either way, Tim had talked Kon out of it.

But Damian, for all of Tim’s bad memories, was an ally. He wasn’t going to turn him away.

Though there was the little matter of where Damian would stay, now that he had his memories back.

“And you’re _sure_ you don’t want to book a hotel instead of just bunking on my couch.”

“For the third time, Drake, if the League of Assassins is truly after you, they may strike at any time. It would be better for both of us if I continued to stay here and offer an extra layer of protection.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” Tim rubbed at his arms. “Well,” he said. “Um. Dinner?”

Damian nodded, accepting the olive branch. “Please,” he said, and if _that_ wasn’t weird now that Tim knew Damian knew who he was. “I will help prepare it.”

“That’s fine,” Tim said quickly. The kitchenette was small, and Damian was not, and for all they had “decided” to “get along” Tim still was going to feel antsy being in enclosed spaces with Damian for a little while. Amnesiac Damian had accepted that with more self-disparaging. He had no idea how Current Damian would take it. But there it was. “I’ll just make something simple.”

Damian’s expression clouded. “I understand.”

Tim swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

 Things were… awkward the next day, now that Damian had his memories back. Mostly because it was obvious how seriously uncomfortable Tim felt. All the time. Through breakfast (Damian still went out to buy the baked goods while Tim was asleep), their working quietly together in the living room (Damian had plenty to catch up on), their training afterwards (That was the hardest--pulling his eyes away from Tim, feeling Tim watching him warily), lunch (stilted, silent)...

And the thing was--

The _thing_ was that Damian had always been jealous of Tim. When he was younger, it was because he was the current Robin, and Bruce’s son, and thus a threat and someone to wish removed. As Damian grew up, it was Tim’s skill and knowledge that he envied; Damian was brilliant, he knew that, but Tim’s mind was a computer. There was a reason why Ra’s was interested in it, after all.

And, also as Damian grew, Tim grew into someone that he not only envied, but admired. Tim was _good_ at what he did. He was strong, smart, and agile. He was at ease with people even if he didn’t prefer them. He--he left and went on to make his own life for himself and actually try to pursue happiness.

There was a lot, there, that Damian found to admire.

But Damian had made a bed a long time ago, when it had come to Tim, so their interactions always had the edge of, “What if?” What if Damian lost his temper. What if he went after Tim again, old feelings boiling to the surface. What if he wanted him out of the way once and for all.

None of these things Damian wanted. But he understood that it would take time to convince Tim of that. He would surely try. Tim had been nothing but kind to him. Damian wanted to return the favor.

He wanted… he wanted their relationship to be better.

He wanted Tim to smile at him. He had, when Damian’s memory had been gone.

He wanted Tim to be relaxed enough to wander around in his sleep clothes.

He wanted... a lot things.

The feelings weren’t new. Even if being in close proximity with Tim again was. He understood now, _remembered,_ why, with amnesia, he had been so distracted by Tim, had wanted to keep him close. He-- Tim was--

Beautiful.

Probably, if Tim knew how Damian was feeling, that wouldn’t help his wariness. On top of that, there was the age difference. Damian was younger. While he could argue that he was only just entering his prime, he didn’t know how Tim would feel about someone almost a decade his junior. And that was if Tim considered things at all.

Damian wasn’t optimistic.

But he would try. He would be gentle. He would be careful. He would be the type of person he often wished came easier to him. If nothing else, he didn’t want Tim to fear him. He wanted him feeling comfortable. Safe.

Damian would do much to make Tim feel safe.

 

\---

 

Tim couldn’t help but notice that something about Damian had definitely changed since he’d gotten his memories back. He was more soft-spoken, much less quick to anger, and tolerated people that he had probably once thought beneath him.

It was a nice change. It reminded Tim more of Amnesiac Damian, the Damian who didn’t have a past of violence and heartache. But it was also _weird_ , because he had a hard time knowing how to interact with a Damian whose past wasn’t violence. Especially towards Tim himself.

Tim had just figured that in their past recent interactions, Damian had been civil because time had deadened some of the jealous, angry feelings he’d had towards the previous Robin. Especially once Tim had literally removed himself from the picture. But he’d still been brusque and blunt, with no problem commenting on Tim’s actions or abilities. And, to be honest, he also got scarier once he’d grown into his full stature. Damian little was annoying but not someone Tim was afraid of. Damian _older_ was… formidable. And Tim knew that while he’d put up a good fight, he’d probably be overpowered eventually, in a one-on-one should Damian decide he no longer wanted Tim in the picture.

And he didn’t _really_ think Damian would snap, if only because Alfred and Bruce would be Very Disappointed in him, but it was still a thought that Tim couldn’t help but carry with him. You didn’t exactly forget when someone tried to kill you, no matter how old they were, even if you’ve forgiven.

So seeing Damian like this all the time, now that they were together all the time, was new. And different. And _really really weird._

Also… Damian touched him a lot? Amnesiac Damian had kept his distance, probably because he worried about whatever he had done to Tim in the past. That was one big difference between him and Current Damian. Damian put a hand on Tim’s shoulder when he got up to move across the room, or pressed a quick touch to his back as they switched places in the gym. Nudged him with his foot underneath the table, to signal that he was ready to order at lunch. It wasn’t that the touching bothered Tim, but the fact that they were all a gentle addition to Current Damian’s already strange behavior was driving him nuts.

“Are you going out tonight?” Damian asked, once they’d finished up dinner. He had already moved to carry the dishes into the kitchenette to wash them. Tim let him.

“I’d planned to, yeah,” Tim said. He hadn’t gone out yesterday, and that was only because he’d wanted to monitor Damian to make sure he got through a night with-memories safely.

Damian turned to look at him. “Even with Ra’s out there, looking for you?”

Tim shrugged. “He knows where I live. If he’s coming for me, it doesn't matter where I’ll be at the time.”

“He knows where you live.”

Tim shrugged again. “I get flowers sent to my door every time I move or stay in a hotel longer than a week. Oleander, nutmeg geraniums, and dragon lily usually.” Along with red and pink camellias and coriander. But Damian really did not need to know that.

Especially about the coriander.

He watched Damian process this and, predictably, get mad. “And you just… let him do these things? Play with you like a toy?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I don’t exactly ‘let’ him do anything. Until I’m dead or he grows bored, it’s not like I have a choice. Usually it’s not that bad. He pops up, bothers me, we play proverbial chess, and he leaves me alone again.”

Damian looked at him. “Usually?”

Scotland. Tim unconsciously clenched his fists. “Yeah,” was all he said.

Damian swallowed. “I apologize. I didn’t mean… that. What I said. I’m angry at him, not you.”

Tim coughed a laugh. “Yeah, okay. I get it. I’m still going out tonight.”

“Then I will--then I would like to accompany you. Please.”

Tim nodded. No harm in back-up. “If you want.”

“I do.”

 

\---

 

They didn’t find anything that night. Or the next night. Or the next.

Damian was getting frustrated. He knew his grandfather was just lying in wait, taunting them now that he’d given warning he would be coming, and it made him so angry. Angry that this happened at all. That apparently Tim put up with this _all the time_.

That he was so resigned to it.

“It’s been five days since I was contacted,” Damian said angrily through the channel. “Surely they will act soon!”

“That or they just wanted to rile you up and see how you’d react,” Tim said.

“What would the point of that be?”

“Ra’s likes games. I told you that already. He’s probably playing with us.”

“But what was even the point at all? How would he... _play_ with you had the bullet hit its mark?”

“You mean if I’d lost my memories, you mean?”

“Yes.”

The sigh was audible through the channel. “I’ve been thinking about that. A lot.”

“And? You know his games well enough. What do you think he wanted?”

“Probably uh. Me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ra’s hasn’t wanted me dead for a couple of years now, at least.” and then a muttered, “That was pretty clear last time.”  

“Last time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Damian moved to another building, scanning the streets. “Alright.” Respecting Tim’s wishes, though he wanted so badly to know what had happened. What horror Tim kept alluding to. “What did you mean by him wanting you?”

“He wants my mind.” Even statement, no bragging. “He wants me on his side. If I lost my memories and he’d gotten to me first, he probably figured he’d win.”

Damian hissed. Never in his whole life had he been so glad that he’d been the one shot. “I--”

“Let’s head back,” Tim interrupted, voice clipped. “It’s getting early.”

When they arrived back in Tim’s apartment, they both stayed in Tim’s room to strip out of their gear, Damian steadfastly keeping his eyes to himself because… because he would be tempted, if he didn’t.

“You want shower first?” Tim asked, pulling off his undershirt.

Probably a good idea. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.” Tim was already moving his mattress to stash everything.

Damian made his shower no quicker than it needed to be, and, clad in his sleeping clothes, went to Tim’s room to let Tim know the shower was ready.

When there was no answer when he knocked, he quietly pulled the door open. Tim was asleep on the bed, still in his leggings. He was frowning in his sleep and looked so tired. Worn.

Damian guessed that this thing with Ra’s took more out of Tim than he let on.

He crept forward until he was standing on the side of the bed, and carefully maneuvered Tim until he was under the covers.

He... may have spent a few minutes just watching him, before he retreated back into the living room to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* 
> 
> http://flower.lifetips.com//cat/63612/language-of-flowers/index.html
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_symbolism


	8. Chapter 8

Tim woke up with a groan, feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Damian had had them out for longer than even Tim was used to, and he was so tired.

Part of him cast a thought at just rolling over and going back to bed.

The rest of him, the bit that felt guilty about sleeping in, pushed himself out of bed and toward the shower.

The futon was empty, which wasn’t unusual--Damian usually took it upon himself to go out and get the morning’s baked goods. Yawning, Tim went to take his shower and emerged about ten minutes later, hair wet, to find Damian setting the table.

“Next time we won’t stay out so late,” Damian said, eyes on the plates.

“Um, okay,” Tim said, sitting down across from him. “Doesn’t matter to me either way. I want to know what he’s up to just as much as you do.” Probably more.

But hey, at least this time, if Ra’s got him, Tim was actually pretty positive that Damian would try to come get him. That was a warming thought, if an odd one.

“I just hate this,” Damian growled. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to attack.”

“I know the feeling,” Tim replied, voice wry.

Damian jerked his head up. “I did not--mean to make this about myself. I know it must be harder for you.”

Tim shrugged and tore off a chunk of bread. “It’s fine. I know what you meant. And I appreciate the help you’ve been. Really.”

“Some help,” Damian muttered. “We can’t even find one old man.”

Tim let out a laugh, surprising himself--and clearly Damian. “He’s more than just an old man, I think. But it’s funny to picture him waving a walker around.”

Damian’s lips quirked as he helped himself to some fruit.

 

\---

 

“Let’s go out,” Tim suggested, after breakfast. “To the country again. We can pack a lunch and just take the train out somewhere. We both need a break.”

Damian bit his lip, but nodded. “Alright.”

“...really? Just like that?”

Damian shrugged. “You’re right that we both could use some… relaxation.” And if it helped ease Tim’s mind, all the better. “Shall we set out now?”

Tim blinked. “Uh, sure. Let’s put lunch together first. I’ll make a quick run to the market--we could use some more fruit.” They’d finished what they’d had with breakfast.

“I’ll come with you,” Damian said immediately. He hadn’t let Tim go out alone since regaining his memories.

“If you want to.”

“I do.”

They set out, the route to the fruit stand they frequented easy and familiar for the both of them.

When they got there, the vendor was nowhere to be seen. Tim took another step towards the cart, then frowned and turned to Damian, eyes widening as he registered something Damian couldn’t.

“Get down!” Tim dove at him moments before the cart exploded, shielding Damian with his own body.

Coughing as the smoke cleared, Damian immediately stood up, noticing for the first time that the side-street was deserted.

He held out a hand to Tim, pulling him to his feet. Tim stumbled forward, and Damian steadied him. “How did you know--”

“About the bomb?” Tim coughed again. “They always beep twice before they go off. A fun little warning. I once dove into a river because I heard a car lock with the same cadence.” The back of his shirt was in tatters, and all Damian wanted to do was miracle them back to the apartment, home and safe, so he could check Tim over and bandage his wounds.

Damian himself was unharmed, minus a few scrapes. “I hate him.”

“You and me both.”

Movement from the rooftops got their attention, and they both fell back into fighting stance. “Is this their play?” Damian asked, as five people dropped down to surround them.

“Appetizer,” Tim said. “He’d never send just five against the two of us.”

Damian bared his teeth. “Figure out what else he’s up to,” he said. “Leave these five to me. Please.”

Tim looked about to say something before he inclined his head. “They’re all yours.”

Damian grinned, dark and wide, and reveled in the fact that two of their attackers took a step back before coming forward again. He leapt, making sure the attention was on him so that Tim could get his injured back against the wall and protect himself.

“Roll left!”

Damian obliged, the knife thrown in his blind spot flying harmless over his head as he took out the knees of the third assassin. He twisted out from the roll and kicked another assailant in the face, downing them. Two left. He moved to take them out quickly, and spared a quick glance over at Tim.

...who was barely on his knees, chest heaving as he struggled to stay upright.

“Tim!” Damian disabled the two assassins with all-but-deadly force and left them lying in a heap. He crouched down in front of Tim, cradling his head in his hands. “Tim, tell me what it is!”

“D-drugs. In-in the smoke. P-probably one you’re,” he shuddered, “you’re immune to.” Tim reached up one hand to grab at Damian’s shoulder. “Damian, g-get me home.”

Damian swung Tim up and raced out of the side-street as fast as he could, making the five minute walk in one and a half. He rushed up the stairs, barreled through the door, and gently laid Tim down on the futon. Tim groaned and rolled over onto his side, and Damian cursed himself. Of course, his back!

Not wasting any time, he left Tim on the futon and ran into the bedroom, pulling up the mattress and grabbing both his and Tim’s suits out of it, then sped back into the living room.

Tim was breathing shallowly, eyes closed. “Tim! Tim, open your eyes. I need you to tell me what you think he dosed you with.” Damian couldn’t give an antidote until he knew what the poison was; the wrong choice would do more harm than good.

Tim kept his eyes closed but shook his head. “Get me some water,” he managed.

Feeling frantic, all Damian could do was listen. He was back moments later holding a cup full of water, and carefully, mindful of his back, helped Tim sit up so he could drink it. “Tim?”

Tim sat and just breathed for a few minutes, but Damian could feel his breath evening out. What--why--

Tim swallowed down some more water. “T-told you, he doesn’t want me dead.” Then he passed out.

 

\---

 

Tim woke up with a headache bigger than all of Paris, and that slightly sick feeling in his stomach that told him yes, he’d processed the toxins thanks, but his body wasn’t happy about it.

Also his back hurt, but not as much as it might have. He could feel the tell-tale sign of bandages wrapped around his torso. Damian had treated him, then.

Damian. Tim jerked up, then groaned and put his head in his hands. Ow. Ow, ow ow ow _ow_.

He got up much more slowly, made his way out of his bedroom and over to his bathroom to swallow down some ibuprofen and drain a glass of water. Then he wobbled over to his couch and sat. Damian wasn’t in the apartment.

Damian wasn’t in the apartment, and the last thing Tim could remember was passing out after they’d been attacked by a bomb, and assassins, respectively.

He fought down panic, trying to think about where Damian _could_ be when the door opened, quietly, like someone was trying to be careful not to make noise.

Damian stepped into the room and caught sight of Tim, and then he was rushing over, kneeling on the floor next to the couch so Tim was blinking down at him.

“Um?”

“You’re alright!” Damian let out a breath. “It’s been almost the entire day.” And oh, yeah, now that Tim thought about it, the sky was dark outside.

“Where have you been?” He asked, instead of addressing that.

Damian shrugged. “Checking up on things.”

Tim crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. “Damian.”

Judging by the fact that Damian looked amused, it wasn’t working very well. “After I got you home, I went back to the fruit seller’s to try to track the assassins. I got there just in time to meet the clean-up crew.”

Oh. That was. That was good. “And?”

“And I left them with a message that, in no uncertain terms was I going to be tolerating this sort of behavior again.”

“How… exactly did you do that?”

Damian looked away.

“Damian!”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Then what did you do? Ra’s has literally been chasing after me for over a _decade_.”

“I met with Grandfather. And I made a deal.”

Now Tim genuinely felt alarmed. “You made a deal?” He asked, probably sounding about as frantic as he felt. “With _Ra’s_? What kind of deal?”

“Not telling you the terms were part of the deal.”

“Damian! That’s--you _can’t_ \--”

“I can, and I did. It’s obscene that you’ve had to deal with him at all, much else this long, and it’s a failing on all of our parts that we did not know to help you sooner. I did what I had to to get him to stop and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Tim swallowed. “Damian, Damian you need to tell me what you promised him. Please. Whatever it is, it’s on _me,_ you have to understand that--”

Damian took one of Tim’s hands between both of his own. “I swear it won’t end in anyone getting hurt.”

“You _count_ , Damian!”

The smile was barely there before it was gone again. “Myself included. All I promised was a test of my own fortitude. I do not intend to lose.”

Tim felt himself freeze. “You promised you’d swim in the Pit, didn’t you.”

A sharp bark of a laugh. “No wonder he calls you Detective.”

Tim tried to tug his hand back and get across the point of why this was _not okay_. “Damian--!”

“Please.”

And that startled Tim out of his rant. He stared down at Damian, who still was kneeling at his feet, holding Tim’s hand with his own. “Please what?”

“Allow me to do this for you.”

Tim swallowed. The air in the room felt warmer. “I already told you, you don’t owe me anything. We both made mistakes.”

“And I am trying to be better. For you. In general. I am always trying to be better. The Pit can’t touch me.”

“You don’t _know_ that--”

Damian bared his teeth in a grin. It made him look--dangerous. But not threatening. “The Pit can’t touch me.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his gaze to their joined hands, and didn’t say anything at all.


	9. Chapter 9

Damian absolutely wouldn’t hear of Tim going out that night and Tim honestly had no plans to go even without Damian threatening to just tie him to the bed to make him rest.

What did happen was that Tim took a shower, and then Damian bandaged his back again for him. It wasn’t that bad, just a few first degree burns, and with the ointment and the wrappings Tim could barely feel the pain.

They ended up having a quiet night in; eating a simple dinner and then putting on a movie. Tim suggested _Amelie_ , and Damian had no problem with it, and so they just sat and watched it in mostly silence, next to each other on the couch.

When the movie was over, Damian shifted, turning to face Tim, close enough that their knees were touching. “I wondered about us, you know. When I had lost my memories.”

Tim turned towards him. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” Damian nodded. “I thought we were lovers.” As Tim’s eyes widened he added, “And that I’d abused you. Horribly. I kept closing my eyes and seeing your flinches, your scars, and I--” he stopped, the words harder to say that he’d expected, difficult to force out. “And I hated myself, for what I’d done.”

“Damian--”

“And when I regained my memories, it was to find that in actuality, I was no better.”

He watched Tim swallow, watched him think through an answer before he opened his mouth and said, “I forgave you, you know. A long time ago.”

“But you did not forget.”

“Well, no. But sometimes… sometimes it’s important not to forget things. To forgive and not forget. Just in case.”

Damian flinched. Just in case. Just in case he snapped. That he suddenly regressed ten years. Just in case.

“Hey no, wait, Damian… Damian look at me.” Damian looked up, and Tim’s gaze was serious and intent. “I’ve said it before. We both made mistakes. I’m not proud of how I acted towards you. I should have been better. I was older but I felt threatened, and I lashed out at you. I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry--”

“Yes. I am. Because… Because when you were a child--” Tim paused, so briefly that Damian ached, “--you needed all the love and support that you could have gotten. Dick gave it to you. So did Cass. Bruce tried. Even Steph, in her own way did. But I couldn’t find it in myself to treat a _child_ properly. Just because I was losing something in the process. I… knowing you now… I regret not knowing you before.”

Damian inclined his head. “I… don’t know if it would have worked for us, before. I admit to… wanting to know you. But I also was aware that you didn’t not want to know me.”

“Right. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Damian swallowed. That, he would accept. “Thank you.” He paused, then admitted. “I still regret. Much of what I’ve done. I’ll always regret it.”

He watched Tim hesitate, then reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. Even when you didn’t have your memories, you regretted who you were. Who you might have been.”

Damian sighed. “It doesn’t go away. I wish it did. But I live with my decisions. I just try to be better. I _want_ to be better. And…” out with it. “I want to be better for you.”

Tim let out a soft laugh, along with a self-deprecating smile. The kind Damian wanted to kiss away. “I’m nothing special,” he said. “But that you always try to improve--that is special. You’re something special. I--I hope you know that.” He started to withdraw his hand, but Damian caught it and held it fast, lacing their fingers together.

“It means a lot to me that you think that, Tim. Thank you.”

Tim let out another short laugh, high and a little breathless. “Water under the bridge, right?”

Damian nodded. “Yes. As you say.”

Tim shifted, glancing down at their joined hands--linked for the second time in a few scant hours. “Could I ask--” he stopped, averted his eyes.

“Ask.”

Tim shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but Damian could see the tenseness in his posture. “Why you kept caring. About me, I mean. I’m barely a distant relative. Why were you even--” _Why were you even there at all, when the bullet was trying to find its mark._

“We...worry about you. Father does, Dick and Cass do--”

“Cass comes to visit me nearly once a month when she can--”

“And she worries about you. She’s the only one you’ve stayed in contact with, and she tells us about how you’re doing. Dick--”

“Hasn’t bothered to try to contact me since I left.”

Damian swallowed. “You haven’t tried to contact him either.”

“Yeah. But I was the one who left.”

“ _I_ worry about you.”

“ _Why_? We interacted for like a year, exchanged insults for most of it, and then I took off.” Tim looked down at their hands again. “I just--I can’t understand why--” He stopped, did not seem inclined to continue.

Damian shifted in his seat, knocking their knees together. “After… after you left, I began to delve deeper into your role as Robin. I wanted to learn about you so that I could be better. And as I learned, I started to… look up to you. You were brave and strong and smart, and everything I wanted to be. You were Father’s moral code in a way I couldn’t be, because I had to learn that code myself. I began to regret how I had acted, but by then it was too late. You were gone, and clearly wanted nothing to do with me.”

Tim was watching him with a curious expression, but Damian had no choice but to go on. “So I… watched. When I had opportunity to. I took the overseas missions, and sent myself out on assignments. And I--I started to know you. I looked up to you less, saw you more as an equal.” Tim was barely breathing “Someone to care for. And about.”

Tim swallowed and looked away. “Okay. I… okay.”

Damian took a breath. “I--I hope that this doesn’t… bother you. The way I went about things.”

Tim shook his head, seemed to straighten up. “No. I mean, it’s pretty Bat of you but that’s uh. Not a surprise.” Then he didn’t say anything else.

They lapsed into silence.

“I’m coming with you, you know,” Tim said, after a long moment.

“Where?”

“When you go swimming. I’m not letting you do that alone.”

Damian reared back. “Absolutely not. The entire point of my making the deal was so that you weren’t bothered by Ra’s again--”

“And I’m not letting you walk into the lion’s den without backup.”

“So _you’ll_ just walk into it? Ra’s is not a man of his word!”

Tim crossed his arms. “If you really believe that, then what was the point of making the deal at all?”

“I--”

“It won’t be my first time facing him. Not even on his own territory. I can handle myself.”

“I--I know you can--”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to give him a chance to touch you again!” Damian clenched his hands so hard they started to shake. “He keeps his word but… you know he’s a snake. If he can twist a situation to suit his own needs, he will do so happily.”

Tim glanced away. “I’m aware.”

“And he’s--he’s done something. Recently. I can… you’ve said enough for me to… I don’t want you to have to face him. When there is no need.”

“You need back-up,” Tim said quietly. “I’m not letting you go alone for the same reason you don’t want me to go at all.”

“At least he doesn’t want me the same way he wants you!”

Tim swallowed, but his voice was steady when he said, “Be that as it may. If we’re a team, you need to treat me like an equal. Not someone to be protected.”

Seeing you as an equal does not keep me from wanting to protect you, Damian did not say. Instead he bowed his head. “I understand. I… I was going to go tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Let’s buy another plane ticket.

 

***

 

The flight was uneventful. Tim, more used to traveling now, managed to fall asleep on the plane, head against the window. Damian had asked for the aisle seat, under the guise of wishing to get up and walk around.

But he would more easily be able to cover Tim that way too.

While Tim slept, Damian spent the time thinking. He had never before swum in the Lazarus Pit, though he had heard many accounts of what it could do. How it could twist you. For some in his grandfather’s employ, the Pit was the highest honor. For others, it was the worst punishment.

Extend a life, to make it _last_.

Ra’s believed in being thorough.

So Damian knew that he would have to fight to keep himself. That the pit would extend his life, but would also try to seep into him, warp him. It would require all his concentration and focus to fight it. Meditation would not be enough; he would have to _work_.

He already had a slew of memories he planned to play through his mind. Good memories, ones that he wanted to hold onto.

His time in Paris greatly helped to pad those out.

Tim startled awake just before they landed and left to use the restroom. Damian remained standing until Tim returned, and they were one of the first off the plane. A nice thing about first class.

A slight woman with dark red hair was waiting for them at the gate, an ever-so-slight smirk playing about her lips. Damian clenched his jaw and did not rise to it, but Tim put a hand on his shoulder just the same.

“We have a return trip booked,” he murmured. “We’re only here for a little while.”

“Yes,” Damian replied, touching Tim’s hand before letting his own drop. He exhaled and looked at the woman. “Well?”

She inclined her head and led them out of the airport to a waiting car, taking the front passenger's seat. Tim and Damian slid into the back.

 

***

 

“Grandson,” Ra’s greeted, after they had been lead down a dank hall. His eyes fell on Tim.  “Timothy.”

Damian could feel Tim tense next to him. “Hi," Tim spat. "If we could get this over with?”

Ra’s chuckled. Next to Damian, Tim got even tenser. “Always one to cut to the chase, aren’t you, Detective? Very well. This way.”

He motioned them through an entrance way, and then, there it was.

The Lazarus Pit.

Damian stared down at the glowing waters, and then looked to Ra’s. “He is not harmed while I swim. Nor after. I will kill you.” The only time he would ever again feel comfortable making that threat.

“If you survive?” Ra’s asked, amused.

“I will survive. I will stay myself. And if he comes to harm, you will die.”

“If you were truly my grandson, I would expect nothing less.” Ra’s nodded towards the pit. “Let’s see how you do.”

“Damian--” Tim stepped forward. “You--” he swallowed. “I bought two plane tickets.”

Damian tried to smile, for Tim’s sake. “I’ll see you again in a few moments.”

And he dove in.


	10. Chapter 10

Tim was expecting something from Ra’s the minute Damian entered the Pit, but he was too busy keeping his eyes locked to where Damian had dived in to care .

So the “I’ve missed you, Timothy,” right in his ear was not unexpected. But it made him jump all the same.

Disgusted, Tim stepped away, zeroing in again on where he’d last seen Damian. All he saw were bubbles. _Come on Damian, be okay._ “Spare me. I’m not even here for you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“We’re leaving as soon as Damian gets out.”

“Mm. And if he doesn’t? Or if he ends up… changed?”

“We’re leaving as soon as Damian gets out,” Tim said again, through gritted teeth.  

 

\---

 

 _You missed this_ , the Pit whispered, grasping at him. _Missed this power, this superiority._

 _Home_ , Damian thought fiercely. _Father and Alfred and Dick and Cass. Going out at night, helping to save the city--_

 _And you’d be so much more successful if you could stop people for_ _good. They deserve it, don’t they? Don’t they…_

 _The moral code of don’t kill_ , _Father instilling it in him. Not to turn to the dark side, because there was no returning from it._

 _And yet you could be so much better. Do so much_ more _. And why stop there? You have life now, you are strong. You could be powerful._

_Peaceful times! Practicing with Dick and Cass. Lunch with Colin. These past few weeks with Tim._

_Oh yes… there is desire there. Feed it. Cultivate it._ _Take._ _You so justly deserve it. You have done so much, could do so much more…_

 _Tim starting to trust him! He didn’t want to ruin that. Tim called them a_ _team. He would be a man worthy of that._

 _Worthy of what? Gentleness is weakness. You could be king. You could_ _rule. You could_ take _him. He wouldn’t be able to say no to you. After all, it’s your_ _right._

Damian gasped, choked, and clawed his way towards the surface. The water pulled at him, tried to suck him back under, but he used his strength to swim against it, make his way towards the lip of the Pit. Tim was waiting for him. Tim was waiting with _Ra’s_ and no, _no,_ Damian needed to win!

He _would_ win. The Pit was greed and deceit. The Pit was cruelty and false promise.

Tim was waiting for him.

The Pit was nothing.

 

\---

 

Tim was running forward the moment Damian broke the surface again, stopping just short of the edge and reaching forward. As soon as Damian was close enough, Tim grasped his hand and pulled, moving back to help get Damian out.

It was hard. The Pit fought back, trying to pull Damian in again, but Tim refused to give up and between the two of them, Damian was eventually panting on the ground, safely out of Pit.

Tim crouched down next to him. “Damian? Damian, look at me?”

Damian lifted his head. “I’m alright,” he managed. “I’m--I’m still me. I didn’t listen. I… I didn’t listen.”

Tim dove forward, enveloping Damian in a hug. “And you’re never doing that again.”

Damian brought up his shaking arms to clutch Tim close, breathing deep. “I don’t plan to.”

“How nice to see you survived,” Ra’s said, reminding Tim that, oh yeah, _he_ was here. He pulled away from Damian to glare.

“Yeah. He did. Bargain fulfilled.”

“As promised,” Damian added, standing up with Tim’s help. “You leave Tim alone.”

Ra’s smirked at them, and Tim couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine. He’d seen that facial expression a lot when--

And it was in the _past_.

“Right,” he said, voice steady. “You leave me alone.”

“And I do have integrity,” Ra’s said. “I’ll miss our games, Detective.”

“You’ve lost the right to speak to him,” Damian snapped. “We are leaving.”

And Ra’s still looked amused, damn it. But all he said was, “Yes, I suppose you are.” He snapped his fingers and a cloaked minion appeared out of the shadows. “Lead them back.”

The minion nodded and began to walk. Tim and Damian glanced at each other, then followed.

Tim couldn’t help but risk one last look back at Ra’s. The man smiled at him, cold and cruel, and turned away.

Tim swallowed and kept walking.

 

\---

 

Damian was in no condition to make the flight back to Paris, even though he tried to insist. Instead, Tim reminded him that their flight wasn’t for a while yet anyway, and checked them into a hotel. A nice thing about having money; no one gave the soaking Damian a second look.

Damian shucked his clothes the moment Tim closed the door behind them. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Tim nodded, turning towards the beds. “Take your time. Don’t collapse while in there.”

Damian rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom. Once there, the door safely closed, he sank to his knees. He felt weak--weaker than he’d ever felt. Drained and tired. He’d been trying to hide it so Tim didn’t worry, but he was definitely looking forward to lying down.

He dragged himself into the shower and turned on the water, hissing at the cold though it warmed up quickly. He sat at the bottom of the tub and let the water run in rivulets over him for a time, eyes closed. When he felt like he’d gotten more of himself back, he reached for the soap and shampoo and cleaned himself, washing away the last traces of the Pit.

Some time later, Tim knocked on the door. “Damian? You doing okay in there?”

It woke him out of his trance, enough to reply, “Fine. I’ll be out in a moment.” He was loathe to turn off the water, but he forced himself to, grabbing a towel to dry himself off.

When he walked out of the bathroom, it was to find that Tim had already laid his clothes out for him on one of the beds. He nodded his thanks when Tim glanced up from his laptop and dressed quickly, then pulled back the covers.

“Wake me when it’s time to leave?”

“Of course,” Tim said. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you.”

 

\---

 

 _Damian…_ the voice whispered in his ears, calling to him. _Damian, your desire is here._ Tim, in the distance. Bound. _Show him your power. Show him…_

Damian jolted awake, eyes immediately searching out Tim. He wasn’t in the hotel room, and Damian had to fight down the panic of _where was he_ when the front door opened up and Tim entered, carrying something that smelled excellent.

Damian’s first urge was to grab him, hold him down, and, horrified with himself, he braced his head in his hands and tried to breathe, to force those thoughts away.

No wonder Ra’s had seemed amused. The Pit didn’t let you go. He was probably laughing right now, waiting to see if Damian would crumble.

“Damian!” Tim raced over to him, still holding the packages. “Are you okay?”

“Merely...residual affects from my swim,” Damian said. _Take him. You are stronger, you deserve--_ “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“...okay.” Tim looked at him a moment longer before he began to unpack what he he had brought. “I got us something to eat. Figured you’d need it, after.”

“Thank you.” Damian said, accepting a loaded plate. He distracted himself by eating his fill, even though he felt sick.

“I figured we could head to the airport after we ate,” Tim said. “Get out of here.”

“I would like that,” Damian said. He wanted to leave this cursed place behind. “Back to Paris?”

“For a little while,” Tim said. “My next project is in Norway. And I’m guessing you’ll be wanting to head back to Gotham, now.”

The thought of leaving Tim now, after they had finally mended bridges, was a knife in Damian’s chest. But with the Pit’s whispers… perhaps it would be best if he left.

“Yes,” he said, feeling his heart sink. “It is about time for me to go home.”

 

\---

 

They had about an hour to spend in the airport before their plane left, so Tim went and got them both coffee while Damian found a nook for them to wait in in the first class lounge. He had two more bursts of _thought_ that were not his own while he waited for Tim to return, and he quashed them fiercely, meditating on the peace that had gotten him through his swim.

“Mocha for me, pour-over for you,” Tim said, settling down next to him.

“Thank you.” Damian accepted the cup. His fingers brushed Tim’s as he took it, and he jerked his hand away.

Tim frowned at him. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

Damian refused to look up. “What are you talking about? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Right. Except you’ve barely looked at me since you woke up from your nap, and you act like touching me burns you.”

 _It does_. “I’m merely not feeling myself.”

“Last time that happened, you forgot everything,” Tim said, sounding alarmed. What’s _wrong_?”

“The Pit,” Damian said, keeping his eyes on his drink. “Hasn’t… let me go yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Damian did not want to have this conversation. “It... whispers. Thoughts, suggestions, threats. Things I could do, that I have sworn to never do again.” Killing. Hurting you. _Taking what is mine_ \--no! He gripped his thigh with his free hand, digging in his fingers. “I’m finding it distracting.”

Tim cursed and glared. Damian recoiled thinking it was aimed at him, before Tim hissed, “Ra’s. I knew it. I knew he’d have something planned. I knew this would _hurt_ you.”

“It is of little importance, you were--”

“Doing fine, barring a few upsets. This could impact you for life!”

 _Better I suffer. You’ve done it enough. And the life I lead will be--longer now, more time to hone my skills, to_ triumph _…_ Damian squeezed his eyes shut, flinching when Tim put a hand on his shoulder.

“Damian,” Tim murmured, “You’ll get through this. We’ll get through this. Okay?”

“...Okay.”

The concern warmed him, but he was still relieved when Tim lapsed into silence.

 

\---

 

When they boarded the plane, Tim insisted Damian take the window seat. “It’ll make it easier for you to sleep,” he said. _And also I can cover for you, if I need to._

Damian was obviously not feeling himself, because he didn’t put up even a token resistance. Just nodded and sat down, looking pale. Every so often he would shake his head, and Tim ached to know what the Pit was saying to him, how to soothe him.

Damian did end up falling asleep, though he startled awake several times, immediately seeking Tim out, as if to make sure that he was still there. Tim wound his fingers through Damian’s own and held on, and that seemed to calm him some.

Though he did clutch at Tim’s hand so hard that his knuckles turned white.

When they landed in Paris at last, Tim let out a sigh of relief. Damian would feel more comfortable on familiar ground, and it would be much easier for him to unwind in Tim’s apartment than in some hotel room or on a plane. He navigated for the both of them, taking the lead while Damian trailed behind. When they finally, finally got home, Tim was more than ready to roll into bed, but Damian took precedent.

“Go lie down,” he said, pointing to his bedroom door. “You must still be exhausted.”

“No more than you are,” Damian said, taking off his shoes. “And I have been napping this whole trip. You’re the one who has been up without rest.”

“I’m just going to go grocery shopping. I’ll sleep when I get back.”

Damian crossed his arms. “I’m not taking your bed.”

“For the love of--” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “One nap on the futon won’t kill me.”

“Nor will it do me any harm.”

“Damian, so help me, if you don’t take the bed, I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“That would be unnecessary and childish.”

“The point still stands,” Tim said, lifting his chin. And it was nice to hear Damian sounding like _himself_ again.

Damian sighed, looking incredibly put-upon. “Very well. I will take the bed.”

“Great. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Alright,” Damian nodded. “And...thank you.”

Tim didn’t bothering asking what for. “Of course.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Malachibi. I thought this would be a good thank-you gift ;A;

The problem with sleeping in Tim’s bed, Damian realized too late, was that it was  _ Tim’s bed. _ It was where he was most vulnerable, and Damian still remembered that one night when he had, for a few moments, watched Tim sleep, looking soft and approachable. It was where Tim let his guard down completely. It  _ smelled _ like him.

His nightmares were worse than ever, and by the third time he woke in a cold sweat, he turned to meditation over sleep. At least that way he could blank his mind, control his thoughts.

He only barely registered the door opening and the bed dipping, the touch on his shoulder, and he was moving, pouncing, pressing Tim down against the sheets before he could  _ think-- _

Tim, to his credit, looked startled but unafraid. The part of him that rejoiced over this realization  _ Tim wasn’t afraid _ was overtaken by the sick thought that now, he should be.

Damian pulled back in an instant, letting Tim up. “I’m sorry,” he forced out. “I didn’t mean--”

“No harm done,” Tim said, rolling out his wrists. “The Pit still making noise?”

Damian nodded shortly.

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Not… very much,” Damian admitted.

Tim frowned. “Are the nightmares just more visceral? How do you deal with them normally?”

Damian shrugged. “I have dreams about killing often, but I’m able to sleep through them. These are. Worse.” 

“Worse how?”

“More focused. I--I know how wrong they are, so I wake up.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. “That it’s hurting you.”

Damian shook his head. “I will bear it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

He shrugged again. What could he do? He made his choice, and he would live with it gladly, so long as Tim was not harmed. 

Of course, with Damian now a threat…

“Come on,” Tim said, getting to his feet. “Let’s relax at least. Watch a movie. I’ll make us some tea.”

Damian obligingly followed Tim out of the bedroom and took a seat on the futon while Tim bustled around putting the kettle on to boil. Tim also plated some pastries he must have gotten while out, and set those down on the coffee table in front of Damian before he went to grab mugs.

Damian reached for a pastry and nibbled at it, willing calm over himself. Tim was safe. Damian was safe. There was no threat. Just thoughts. Damian refused to be a threat. He refused to let Ra’s win. Refused to even imagine the idea of hurting others, of hurting Tim, of making him afraid again.

They were just thoughts. Damian could  _ control himself _ .

“Hey,” Tim said, setting the steaming mugs down on the coffee table. “That’s a face. What’s it for?”

“Just thinking. I don’t--I don’t want him to win.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “He won’t. I know he won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? About...me.”

Tim looked at him, eyes clear and full of trust. “Because you’re a better man than he ever was. Because you know yourself. Because you’re strong. And because you already know what it takes to beat your own nightmares.”

And that-- 

Damian wanted so badly to just hold Tim close.

As it was, he drank his tea and ate his pastry, and, after several minutes, when Tim finally started to drift, body falling against Damian’s own, Damian stayed stock still and let him sleep and refused to think of anything at all.

 

\---

 

When Tim woke up, it was early morning. He and Damian had never made it off the futon. He carefully pulled away from Damian and sat up, rolling his shoulders and neck. His body was not happy that he’d just slept who-knows-how-many hours sitting up and slightly sideways. At least his back didn’t hurt. 

He gently moved Damian until he was lying down, and went to put the mugs into the sink. When he came back, it was to Damian frowning hard and murmuring in his sleep.

But even with nightmares, it was better for him to sleep. 

With Damian accounted for, Tim stripped down and took a quick shower, greatly enjoying the feel of it after two days of hectic travel and stress. He walked out toweling off, noticed Damian still asleep, and went into his bedroom to get dressed.

He was just pulling on a shirt when the door burst open. Tim whirled around in a fighting stance to see Damian, eyes wide and frantic.

“What?” Tim asked, looking around for a threat. “What is it?”

“I--” Damian shook his head, dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry, I--I don’t--I was worried.”

“Okay,” Tim took that in stride. For all the trip had been stressful for him, it had to be twice as bad for Damian. “Maybe knock next time? But I’ll leave the door open from now on. Would that help?”

Damian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I--yes. Yes, perhaps.”

Tim sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. “Maybe we should talk?”

But Damian was staring at the bed like he thought it would bite him. He shook his head. “I’ll just… I’ll stay here. We can still talk.”

Tim tilted his head. “You’re focusing on me.” It wasn’t a question. So far he’d seen enough of Damian’s reactions to put it all together. “What’s the Pit telling you to do to me?”

Damian clenched his fists and looked away.

Tim sighed. “Damian, we can’t work through it if you don’t talk about it. Sometimes getting things off your chest actually help you deal with them. So what is it? Is it being descriptive on the ways you could kill me?”

“Sometimes,” Damian forced out. “More often it is…” he stopped, face shuttered.

And Tim was smart enough to put two and two together. “Oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh.’”

“Do… do you think that if you left, if we were apart, it would get better?” As much as Tim would, surprisingly, actually miss Damian once he left, if putting some distance between them stopped the whispers, then he’d do it gladly. He’d never see Damian again, if that would help him.

Even if...even if the idea hurt. In a way he wasn’t expecting.

“I don’t know,” Damian said, averting his eyes. “But I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you. Not yet.”

“Then we’ll get through this,” Tim said, putting his hands on Damian’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

“...okay.”

 

\---

 

Damian dreamed.

Standing at the edge of a pit, a small island in the center of it all. Tim standing there, waiting, an offering.

_ What could one more dip hurt? _

Damian shook his head, found his voice. “This isn’t real,” he said aloud. His words echoed. “I know it isn’t.”

_ Then why do you fight so, if you know it isn’t real? Why do you deny yourself in your dreams? _

“Dreams impact reality. I want nothing to do with this one.”

_ Try and stop it. _

He woke. Floundered for several moments trying to remember where he was. On Tim’s futon, just as he’d slept for the past several weeks. He got up and quietly walked over to the doorway to Tim’s room. It was open, as promised, and Damian peered inside.

Tim was sleeping on his stomach, possibly to keep his back as protected as possible. His chin was tucked up tight against his shoulder, hands curled underneath him.

As Damian watched, Tim’s brow furrowed and he let out the barest hint of a whimper. Damina was next to him in an instant, pressing a careful hand to his shoulder.  _ I will protect you, _ he promised.  _ From everything I can, including myself. _

A thought oozed in his brain, about what  _ else  _ he could be doing, and Damian snatched his hand back, quickly leaving the room. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water, looked out of the tiny window into the quiet night.

He should leave.

He was loathe to leave Tim, but Damian was no protector here. The threat of Ra’s had been neutralized. Tim was planning to leave for a business trip to Norway in the coming month. There were things at WI that Damian could not do from an abroad office. He was no help here.

If he went now, he wouldn’t have to tell Tim goodbye.

 

\---

 

Damian had been his hotel suite for all of two hours when someone tapped on the glass outside of his window. 

He ignored it. 

The tap got louder.

Damian swallowed. Why couldn’t Tim just stay away? Why couldn’t he allow himself that safety?

His phone beeped with an incoming text.  _ If you don’t open your window, I’m coming to knock on your door like a normal person. _

He got up and opened the blinds.

Tim was there, because of course he was, dressed in Red Robin and looking devastating. Still, Damian wanted him out of the suit.

_ Preferably with nothing el--stop it! _

He swallowed again, found the hinge on the window he himself had opened earlier. Now he cursed the fact that it was so easy to let Tim inside.

Tim flipped into the room and pulled off his cowl. He was glaring, and Damian had to fight the urge to apologize. Instead he stared back, stoic. He didn’t regret leaving, though he did regret Tim tracking him down.

“I decided it was best to go,” he said, stilted. “Separate you from my thoughts.”

“What happened to not wanting to leave me,” Tim snapped. “What about that? I wake up, you’re gone--what was I supposed to think?”

“That I wanted to keep myself away from you!”

“You change your mind an awful lot for someone who’s supposed to be so steadfast.”

Damian clenched his jaw and his fists. He wanted to reach out and touch. He wanted to stroke Tim’s hair. He wanted to lay him down and hear him gasp and feel him arch and--

_ You could give him pleasure, since you’re so against giving him pain. _

Damian cursed and looked away. 

“Damian, come on,” Tim said softly. “We talked about this. It’s better if we take this on a united front.”

“You would not feel so, if you could hear my thoughts.”

“So tell me them. Get them off your chest.” Tim shrugged. “Sometimes burying something is worse than airing it out.”

Damian looked at him sharply. “You do not believe that for yourself.”

Tim flinched. “Not wanting to talk about something is different from not wanting to relive memories.”

“I’m sorry.” He was always hurting him. 

Tim sighed. “Look, Damian, just...do you really want to leave?”

Damian could be nothing but honest. “No.”

Tim held out a hand. “Then let’s go back home, okay?”

_ Home. _

Tim wanted Damian to go home. And he meant to Tim’s little apartment in Paris. Where Damian felt like he belonged.

He could beat the pit. With Tim’s trust, he could. He would be worthy of him.

Resolute, Damian took Tim’s hand. “As you say.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MALACHIBI.

“Why did you come after me?” Damian asked, once they were back in Tim’s apartment. “We’d...discussed the possibility of my needing to leave you.”

Tim glanced at him over his shoulder as he walked into his bedroom. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Damian followed Tim, determinedly averting his eyes as Tim took off Reb Robin. “I don’t understand.”

Tim flipped up his mattress and stowed the costume beneath it. “If you’d really wanted me to leave you alone, all you have had to do was say it. You said it yourself how hard it was to be around me. And then turned right around and said you didn’t want to leave.” He raised an eyebrow at Damian. “And then you left anyway. A bit of a mixed signal, that. I just figured better to be safe than sorry.”

Damian lowered his head. 

Tim sighed. “Look, the most important thing we can do for each other is keep the channels open. If you’re honest with me, I know what to expect. I know when to give you distance without worrying too much. I know when you need just the opposite.”

“You can’t possibly think that staying around me is a good thing!”

Tim tilted his head. “Was the pit any quieter while you were in that hotel?”

...no. No, it hadn’t been. It had been worse, without Tim to ground him, without being able to check that Tim was safe. Damian said nothing.

Tim nodded. “I thought so. I’ve learned enough these past few days to know that your focus on me is positive as well as negative.”

Damian glared at the floor, clenched his fists. “There is nothing positive about my thoughts towards you,” he spat.

“Really? Then why did you worry when I was gone? Why was it so important to make sure my needs were being met? Or that I was safe in my room?”

“I…”  _ Give him pleasure, _ the pit said again.  _ You don’t want to bring pain. You could be gentle. He would enjoy it, if you were. _

But were those thoughts really the pit? He’d had them before. They seemed so tame. A contrast to how the other whispers had invaded his mind. They were about caring for Tim, not taking Damian’s pleasure from him.

What was going on? 

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Tim’s hand on his shoulder was so warm that Damian had to suppress a shudder to feel him, so beautiful and so near. “Come on. Neither of us is going to go to bed, so let’s just watch something together, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

\---

 

Tim pushed for normalcy the next day. Damian should probably have been trying to relax, but Tim knew how restless you could get with nothing to do. Especially if sleep wasn’t being cooperative. So he woke up as usual and shook Damian awake too, to let him know he was going to the bakery and the fruit seller. They still were out of fruit. And besides, Tim wanted to check on Olivier and make sure he hadn’t been hurt for Ra’s little hello.

Damian, unsurprisingly, insisted on going along, but Tim didn’t mind. It was nice to have Damian beside him even if Tim was at least half-sure there wasn’t danger now.

He chatted with Olivier, expressed his relief that his daughter was no longer sick (and that Ra’s hadn’t harmed her, past what had clearly been a non-fatal addition to her diet), bought what they needed, and then they went to the bakery.

Once home they had an easy, if quiet, breakfast. Damian kept looking in Tim’s direction and frowning, but that wasn’t exactly new, so Tim mostly ignored it.

“I’m going to get some work done,” Tim said, when Damian got up to clear away the dishes. “Join me when you’re ready?”

Damian nodded. Tim breathed an internal sigh of relief. Things still seemed alright.

 

\---

 

While Tim worked, Damian stared at his screen and tried to sort through his thoughts. He still got whispers from the pit. Of doing harm, or hurting, of taking. Those he resolutely ignored, furiously cutting them down and stuffing them away.

But other thoughts. About wanting Tim safe. About admiring how he moved. About wanting to hold him close, stroke his hair, lie down with him and--

He swallowed. The thoughts felt just as intrusive and foreign but...not altogether bad. They weren’t unpleasant. They didn’t make him sick to think them. But add them all up and

And

Damian quickly glanced at Tim, typing away on his own laptop, and then jerked his gaze away. He’d come to care for Tim before this. Had grown to admire him. His amnesiac-self had been less abashed in his admirations. Had allowed himself to notice things that Damian now still remembered. And now…

It was an insult to his own intelligence to keep beating around the bush. The pit’s whispers had made him focus on his own feelings, but now were easily drowned out by them. He wanted Tim safe. He wanted Tim’s trust. He wanted his thoughts and feelings and conversations. He wanted to hold him, be intimate with him, curl up with him, wake up to him.

He was in love with Tim Drake.

Damian closed his eyes and breathed in. Let it out.

Now what was he supposed to do with that conclusion?

 

\---

 

After a couple hours, Tim pushed away from his computer and stretched, arms up over his head. He carefully ignored how Damian tracked the movement. “Think I’m ready for a change of pace,” he said. “You want to go to the gym?”

“Yes, please.”

So a little while later they were on their way to the gym, each carrying a change of clothes. The path was familiar, but even more so with Damian there by his side. 

Damian by his side was a familiar thing now. Even a comfort. 

He’d miss it, once they went their separate ways.

They went up the staircases in silence, faced away from each other to change, and then went about their own routines.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Tim said quietly, before he got started warming up. “You’re still recovering.”

Damian looked at him, as if startled, but then he nodded, frowning. Tim took that for some sort of acquiesce. 

He still noticed Damian watching him. But then Damian would shake his head and go back to what he was doing, as if annoyed he kept catching himself out. Tim didn’t bother to mention it. 

He was, after all, doing pretty much the same thing to Damian.

Which was an interesting thought in itself. It should have also been a worrisome one, at least in some capacity, but all Tim felt was calm. It made sense to him. He’d spent the last few months really getting to know Damian, first by the absence of what made him threatening and then with him trying his best to stay that way. They worked well together, conversation was easy, and a mature Damian was, well, was someone Tim found himself admiring.

Obviously he was never, ever going to let Damian know any of this, because the last thing he wanted to do was make Damian even more uncomfortable, but there it was. He liked Damian a lot. And he’d be pretty damn sorry to see him go.

 

\---

 

“Are you ever going to tell Bruce what you did?” Tim asked out of curiosity over dinner. 

“What I did about what?”

“Me. The pit. Also me. Mostly the pit.”

“Tt. I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Why not?”

Damian shrugged. “What would it matter? It’s done.”

“You don’t think he’d want to know about Ra’s? That you went for a swim?”

Damian rolled his eyes. He and Tim both knew that Bruce would be furious that he hadn’t been told, furious that it had happened, and then furious that he hadn’t been able to do anything about any of it. “Of course he’d want to know. But I hadn’t planned on telling him.”

“Why not? For real.”

Damian’s gaze flicked to Tim’s mouth and then back to his eyes. “You never let either of us know that Ra’s was causing such trouble for you. I assumed you didn’t want Father to be aware of the situation.”

“Well okay, no, you got that right.”

“If I tell him about meeting Grandfather and swimming in the Lazarus Pit, he would, I expect, want to know why. At which point he would probably deduce that I did it to help you. Obviously he would wonder why such a thing was needed at all. The pieces are not all that difficult to compile.”

Tim huffed. “Fine. But I expect you to tell him, if things get worse for whatever reason. I could live with Bruce knowing another thing about me, even if it’d suck.”

Damian frowned. “You really have no interest in being part of his family, do you.”

“I did, once. It was all I wanted. Now...I told you before. He made choices. I made mine. They weren’t right or wrong choices, they just were, and now here we are.” Tim sighed. “Let’s not dwell on it, okay? I meant it when I said I was happy the way I am now. A few bumps in the road aside, I like my life pretty well. I see Cass when she’s able to come by, Bart and Kon visit me every so often...things are fine the way they are.”

“Is that it?” Damian asked, horrified.

“Is what it?”

“Those three. Seeing you once in awhile. Is that it?”  Damian had Alfred and Father and Stephanie and Colin and Cassandra and Grayson. He saw them regularly, trusted them all, was able to rely on any one of them when he needed it.

Tim had to have more than three people he saw “every so often.”

Hadn’t he?

Tim shrugged. “It’s all I need.”

_ You have me too.  _ “Well.” Damian cleared his throat. “You may count me as fourth. If you would like.”

Tim smiled at him. “Thanks, Damian. Think I will.”

 

\---

 

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“I would...I would like to try something. But if it is something you don’t want, stop me in any way you feel necessary.”

Tim looked at him funny, head tilted, considering. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

It was such a show of trust. Damian hoped he wasn’t making the wrong decision.

Nothing for it now. Tim had agreed and Damian so desperately wanted.

He leaned in, reached to take Tim’s hand, and pressed a soft kiss to Tim’s mouth.

At first there was just shock, Tim stiffening in surprise, and Damian started to pull back, not wishing to push anything Tim might not want. Then Tim let out a soft sound and fisted his free hand in Damian’s shirt, pulling him closer and slanting their mouths together. 

Damian couldn’t help the pleased noise he made as he deepened the kiss, licking into Tim’s mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Tim’s head.

It was everything Damian had wished for all at once, and the rush of want and arousal was sharp and completely expected. But it was Damian who pulled away first, running a hand through Tim’s hair and nipping at his lower lip, before moving back completely. He glanced down at the hand he was holding, Tim’s fingers long and work-rough, and ran his thumb over the back of it.

“I want this,” he said honestly, blunt. “I want you.”

“Right,” Tim panted. “I sort of got that.” He leaned in again, but Damian shook his head.

“No. I--I want… I want  _ you _ . All of you. For as long as you’ll have me.” Please understand me.  _ Please. _

He watched Tim swallow, considering his options. Tim leaned in again for a second time, and Damian let him. “I can work with that,” he murmured against Damian’s lips. 

Damian surged forward, claiming Tim’s mouth again, fingers roaming through his hair, up and down his sides, mindful of his back. Tim’s hands went to Damian’s arms, pulling him closer, grip firm. After several long moments, Damian trailed kisses down the side of his face to his neck, working on sucking a mark that would tell the world Tim was  _ his _ .

Tim let out a gasp, tilting his head and baring his throat for easier access, and Damian felt a thread of pleasure run through him that Tim was allowing this--no,  _ wanted _ this. He shivered when Tim worked his fingers underneath his shirt, hands stroking over Damian’s bare back, his shoulders.

“Tim,” Damian murmured against his neck, then his mouth. “ _ Tim _ , Timothy--”

He felt Tim go tense before he even heard the word “Stop,” steady for all that Tim sounded breathless, and Damian scrambled to put distance between them.

“What--” he crossed his arms behind his back to keep from reaching out, to make himself look smaller, to not do whatever it was Tim needed distance from, “What did I--I’m sorry--”

He watched Tim hold up a hand and obediently closed his mouth, waiting for Tim to speak.

“Ra’s--uh, Ra’s calls me Timothy. He’s the only one who does. I’d just rather that you didn’t. Especially--” He stopped talking, averted his eyes. Damian’s fury was cold and immediate, at whatever his grandfather had done.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I never meant to--”

“I know.” Tim let out a breath and shook his head. “Well, I’ve just gone and ruined the moment, huh?”

“No,” Damian shook his own head. “No, you could never--thank you for stopping me. I don’t want to ever cause you that sort of discomfort.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Yeah, okay.”

“Maybe… maybe we should just turn in for the night.”

Tim nodded, looking thoughtful. “Damian.”

“Yes?”

“Just to sleep,” he said slowly, “Right now, just to sleep, but. Join me?”

Damian’s heart lept. 

He followed Tim into the bedroom, And Tim went around the far side to crawl underneath the covers. Damian stood there awkwardly, still not quite sure what was allowed, when Tim huffed. 

“The point is that you get in too, you know.”

Damian bit his lip and walked forward, pulling back the covers and sliding in next to Tim. Tim turned on his side to face him.

“Feel free to wake me if I have nightmares,” he murmured, eyes closing. 

“Of course,” Damian replied, just as quietly.

Tim fell asleep first, and when he started to make unhappy noises, Damian curled forward around him, cuddling him in close until the noises subsided.

With Tim warm and safe by his side, Damian allowed himself to drift.

He did not dream.


End file.
